


The Swaggering Plimpies (or This One Time, At Quidditch Camp...)

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Coming Out, Divorce, F/M, Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, HP: Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Parenthood, Pining, Post - Deathly Hallows, Quidditch, Rivalry, Summer Camp, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has an idea, and Harry’s just the one to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swaggering Plimpies (or This One Time, At Quidditch Camp...)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldenuf2nb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=oldenuf2nb).



> Written for oldenuf2nb for the 2011 round of hd_holidays. Thanks to my lovely Britpickers, lusiology and franalan, and to taradiane for coding assistance!

“You want to start a Quidditch camp?” Harry repeated.

Draco Malfoy’s face was awash in green Floo light. “It wouldn’t need to be anything huge. I’ve got some leave time coming up from Assembly and... But yes. During the summer. There are only the seven positions on the House teams, and there aren’t any substitutes. So many children don’t even get a chance to try the position they want.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That’s very true. I know Lily’s up against six other Chasers for a spot on Ravenclaw this year.” He smiled. “This is a really good idea, Malfoy.”

Malfoy might have flushed a little, but it could have been the flickering of the shadows. “It’s Scorpius’ idea. So. I just… wanted to run it by you. See if you might, well. If you might be interested in joining me.” Malfoy paused, then cleared his throat. “But. If you don’t have the time, I’d—”

Harry roused himself. “No. No, I was just thinking. It’s weird no one’s ever thought of this before.”

Malfoy’s expression relaxed a little. “They did, actually. Scorpius went and spoke to the new Headmaster, and he asked the portraits and _they_ said that about three hundred years ago someone brought it up. The house teams took on a second string of the most popular positions for a while, but interest didn’t exactly hold out so they abandoned it. Of course,” he sniffed, “no one’s bothered to take into account the growth in attendance during the last half century, what with the inclusion of Muggle-borns and now the Squib Rights movement. Never mind the fact that Quidditch itself has only grown in—”

Malfoy stopped abruptly and his shoulders stiffened. The smile very nearly climbed onto Harry’s face, but he kept it back. He was well aware of Malfoy’s current focus in the Wizarding Assembly; Harry had been following his proposals for some months now.

Upstairs, Albus shouted, Lily shouted back, and a thunk vibrated through the floor. Harry cringed. “Yes, I think keeping the kids occupied this summer could be a good thing.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, but cleared his throat again instead of speaking. Harry heard parchment shuffling on the other end of the Floo. “I’ve researched all the necessary policies and drafted a waiver that parents can sign. If it’s all right, I’ll Owl it over tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I could send Cirrus to yours.”

Malfoy waved a hand. “That’s not necessary, Erebus is still ready and willing.”

“He’s getting pretty old, isn’t he?”

Malfoy’s mouth quirked. “Don’t tell him that. Not a pretty sight.” He paused again and his expression took on a new sort of strain. “The truth is… Look, it’s Scorpius’ request that I coach, and frankly, I think he could use a little distraction this summer as well. I’m thrilled he wants me there. But, Potter, we’ll need to send out Owls with information—” He let out a quick huff. “Don’t misunderstand; I’m interested in the two of us coaching together for its own sake. There are a lot of things we could teach the children. But I admit I’m asking you partly because I’m still not England’s favourite wizard. I wouldn’t want parents to… not take advantage of this opportunity for their children.”

A very politically correct way of saying it. Harry started to answer, but Malfoy went on.

“So,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “I think if we say you’ll be the coach and just leave my name off it for now, that would get everyone more interested.”

“I could handle the leaflets,” Harry offered, already thinking about what he would say in his mind. “I’ll get the first ones ready tonight. We can have parents Owl back if they want the paperwork.”

“That sounds satisfactory. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Harry said. Malfoy gave him a brief smile, and Harry leaned forward. “And Draco?”

Draco blinked. “Yes?”

“It’s good to talk to you again.” Harry smiled back. It really was. After a second, Draco gave him a stiff nod, and signed off.

Harry sat back on his heels, staring at the empty hearth for a few seconds, and then got to his feet and went to find parchment, the smile growing into a grin as he mentally finalised the text on the leaflets.

**

 _Week One_

To say it was a rousing success was to do it an injustice: the list in Harry’s hands only accounted for half of the students on the field. Granted, there were several parents filling out last minute waivers, signing their children up at the door, so to speak, but if everyone stayed, they were going to have their hands full.

“Brooms over here,” Harry directed, pointing out the racks Teddy had Transfigured on the edge of the pitch. “Don’t worry, as soon as you choose one and place your broom, your name will pop up in gold letters on the wood. We’ve got extra gloves and goggles here with Victoire, and if you’ve brought equipment, Quaffles, Bludgers, Snitches, take it over to the side there and line it up.”

The next twenty minutes consisted of finding out who needed a broom and separating out each type of ball for specific charms work later.

“Hey!” Draco jogged over. He was wearing dark trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt that made the paleness of his hands and his wind-reddened cheeks stand out. He waved a parchment in front of Harry’s face. “You didn’t need to do this.”

Harry peered at it.

 

 _**FREE QUIDDITCH SUMMER LEAGUE** _

_Come one, come all, and join us for five weeks of theory, drills, scrimmaging and fun!  
Ages 11 to 18 welcome, all team positions available. Feel free to bring your own broom, or make use of those provided._

 _We will be working with students on the rules, manoeuvres, history, and misconceptions of modern Quidditch. Everyone will get a chance to try various positions, as well as work individually on technique and as part of a larger team._

 _ **Head coaches:** Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy  
 **Junior coaches:** Theodore Lupin, Victoire Weasley, James Potter, Roxanne Weasley_

 _ **Sign-ups by Owl (contact: Hermione Granger, Whittleston Terrace)** _

_Waivers and detailed information will be Owled to all interested!_

 

Harry nodded, feigning appreciation. “Good flier, that.”

Malfoy sighed, but Harry saw the upturn to the corners of his mouth.

“You didn’t need to put my name on it.”

Harry spread his hands, gesturing at the crowd mingling around them, and grinned at Malfoy. “Seems like your idea is a popular one.”

“Scorpius’ idea,” Malfoy corrected, but relaxed. He directed a girl the size of a house-elf and loaded down with Bludgers bigger than her head past them to where the equipment was piling up. “You all right, there?”

“Yep,” the girl said, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she staggered past.

Harry frowned. “Is she old enough?”

“That’s Amy Wilding. And yes, barely. Her mother is Flitwick’s cousin.” Draco reached out and snagged his son as he ran by. “Scorpius, can you get Teddy over here? I think we’re about ready to begin.”

**

“Okay!” Harry called, clapping his hands for silence. The chatter dwindled and stopped altogether, and he suddenly found over twenty expectant pairs of eyes on him. “I’m Harry. This is Draco. We’re your coaches for this camp.”

It was a relief that no one clapped. Well, except for James, who let out an exaggerated whoop and began to leap up and down on the edge of the crowd. Albus smacked him on the side of the head, causing Hugo to burst out laughing. The sound of a throat being cleared silenced him pretty quickly, though; Harry turned and found Hermione glaring at her son as she pulled on her jacket.

It just made his mood rise higher.

“Welcome to the first ever summer Quidditch league. I’d like to introduce your junior coaches before we get going. The noisy one over there is James,” he said, pointing. “This is Victoire, Roxanne, and Teddy.”

They all waved and smiled in turn. “Call me Vic,” Victoire added.

“Call her Vic. All right. Ground rules.” Harry looked at Draco.

“First and most important,” Draco said, “there will be no roughhousing while on your brooms. I know most of you know how to fly already, but there are a lot of people here with varying levels of ability. We do not want anyone getting hurt. So I need to make it very clear that if there is any roughhousing at all, the person responsible will be sidelined for the rest of the session. If it happens again, we’ll send you home and you won’t be able to come back to camp. Understood?”

Everyone nodded assent. Harry noticed some wide eyes from the youngest ones. Draco went on. “Second, we’re here to practise, to get to know the game. This camp is going to be a little different from Quidditch at Hogwarts. We encourage you to experiment with different positions. Try things on for size.”

A hand shot up. Harry pointed. “Yes?”

One of Luna’s sons, barely eleven and skinny as a stick. “What does that mean?”

Harry grinned. “It means that when I call out positions in a minute, you can raise your hand more than once.”

There was an excited ripple of chatter. Lysander Lovegood-Scamander raised his voice to be heard over it. “Wait, so I can do more than one thing?”

Harry nodded and Draco started to elaborate, but the boy went on. “So if I want to be a Chaser _and_ a Keeper, or a Seeker _and_ a Beater, or a Chaser _and_ a Seeker _and_ a Beater, I can?”

It was hard not to laugh. Really hard. Harry tried to catch Draco’s eye, but it seemed Draco was purposely avoiding him. From the shiver along the edges of Draco’s mouth, Harry thought he could guess why.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Draco answered. Luna’s son opened his mouth once more, but Draco changed tacks so smoothly Harry nearly laughed out loud. “Now, who has contributed equipment?”

Several hands shot up. Draco nodded approvingly. “Thank you very much, all of you. I think we’ll have plenty for everyone to work with.”

He stepped back, and Harry pulled out parchment and an enchanted quill. He set them in mid air to his right and let go. “All right, today we’re going to do some basic flying drills so we can see where everyone’s at. But first I’d like to find out which positions you’re all interested in. When I call out a position, raise your hand and we’ll get you on the right lists.”

**

“Well,” Draco said shortly, sitting back in the booth. “This’ll be a joy to organise.”

Harry frowned down at the list between them. He moved his ale over and grabbed a chip from the basket. “It’d be so much easier if we could get our hands on some Time Turners.”

Draco snorted. “Good luck petitioning for that.”

It was late evening and the Hurtling Horklump was full. There was some drunken caterwauling going on at the bar, but Harry and Draco had the illusion of privacy in their booth toward the back. Harry’s stomach had been growling for the past half hour, and they were still waiting for their main courses to come floating out of the kitchen. Already there had been some accidents: patrons walking straight into plates full of shepherd’s pie or bangers and mash, and making quite a mess on the floor of the pub. It was all very funny, Harry was sure, until it was your dinner that got plastered to the walls. “I think if we do the Keeper work in the morning alongside the Seekers, we can set up two different rounds of drills for the Chasers, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.”

“Yes, all right, but what about this Anthony Barclay? He wants to do all three.”

“Should we let them choose what they want to do first?”

Draco’s teeth slid over his lower lip for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Better to assign them spaces. Otherwise they’ll all be clamouring, wanting to know ‘why so-and-so got his first choice and I didn’t—’”

“True.” Harry sighed. “All right, let’s put Teddy in charge of the Keepers for the first week. It’s his position and he can handle all six of them himself, trust me.”

“Your eldest should work with the Seekers. Scorpius still raves about his games.”

Harry smiled at Draco and got a tiny flicker back. Draco pointed again at the list. “Roxanne can help me with the Chasers, I suppose.”

“I thought you wanted to work with the Seekers.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Harry could see the slight sag of Draco’s shoulders. “No, you should take the Seekers. James’ll give you a hand. I’ll handle the Chasers, with Vic in the morning and Roxanne after lunch. The rest… Hmm.”

Draco tapped Harry’s arm in warning and sat back as their food finally landed in front of them. Harry let out a welcome “ah,” and dove into his burger, piling on the condiments and taking a huge bite. “Mmm,” he sighed, chewing slowly. “Perfect. Thought I was going to starve.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely on the edge there.” Draco took a bite of his lasagna and chewed for a moment. “Listen, in the afternoons, I’d like to work with the younger ones on their flying technique. We can get the others in on more complicated drills, too, maybe put together some races. Get their competitive juices flowing.”

“That’s a good idea. The Chasers can do that, too. Shall we just make it a group practise in the afternoon, then?”

“Yes, that sounds best. There are some team exercises Astoria saw while she was working with the Catapults. Shouldn’t be too hard to adapt them.”

Harry thought about minding his own business, but in the end, he went ahead. “How is she doing, anyway? She’s still an athletic Healer, right?”

Draco smiled. It was soft, one Harry suspected he reserved specifically for his ex-wife. “She’s well, thank you. She’s only working half the summer; at the end of August, she’s taking Scorpius to Ireland to visit his grandparents.”

Harry nodded. It wasn’t like the divorce was a secret. The newspapers had hounded the Malfoys precisely because there wasn’t enough of a scandal. Disinterest probably came a lot sooner than it would have otherwise, what with the splitting of such a huge, old fortune. And there was, apparently, still such a thing as going too far: hassling the Malfoys to the point of public embarrassment— particularly the harassment of Draco’s son— had ended up alienating readership. But the only one to come out of it with a less than calm demeanour was Scorpius himself. In Harry’s weaker moments, he wondered what he had done so incorrectly that he couldn’t have the same optimistic relationship with _his_ wife.

Perhaps it should have felt weird to call her that. He hadn’t thought much about it in those terms.

“And you?”

Harry looked up. “What?”

Draco was eyeing him with distinct uneasiness. His fingers clenched around his pint glass. “You? How are you… doing?”

Harry felt stupid. He should have expected it, really. Maybe this was all just some cowardly excuse to talk about it on his part. “I’m fine. Really good, actually.”

Draco nodded. The look on his face made it clear he didn’t feel comfortable pressing. Part of Harry wished he would.

He sat up a little. “Gin’s in Scotland. With the Wigtown Wanderers. Pretty sure she’s enjoying herself.” He shrugged, and noticed when Draco’s eyebrows rose.

He hadn’t meant to sound so… childish. Harry fought a sigh.

“It’s not that I begrudge her,” he said before he could drown himself in self-righteous silence again, and Draco looked at him, surprised. “I’m just sick of, of arguing. You know?”

What the hell was he doing? He hadn’t had anything to drink. Harry didn’t drink much these days; too busy trying to set a good example for his eldest son. But here he was, spilling personal stuff to someone who wasn’t expecting anything remotely like it, and would probably want nothing more than to get away from Harry’s purging. This was the kind of stuff he would tell to Hermione; it wasn’t even like he and Draco were close.

But Draco just contemplated his drink for a second. “I know.”

“I thought—” It was rude, and Harry would have stopped, only Draco met his eyes again expectantly. Harry felt his cheeks heating. “You and Astoria. Thought it was pretty… comfortable.”

Damn. All he really knew was what he’d read in the newspapers, and that felt like a pretty shitty set of assumptions to make, all of a sudden.

Draco sat back, dragging his drink with him. “It was. It _is_. But we still argued.” Abruptly he leaned forward again, his gaze almost too intense. “What about you? Always thought you and Ginevra Weasley were closer than most.”

“We were.” It came out defensively; Harry checked himself. “Just ended up wanting different things.”

Understatement. Ginny wanted a Quidditch career and Harry no longer saw the point in pretending he was still in his twenties. Harry, on the other hand, wanted his wife to recognise that her children were more important than some stupid trophy. Call it a minor disagreement.

God, he hated going down this road. He tried not to because every time he did, he felt like he was being unfair to Ginny. She _loved_ her children. Madly, insanely, so deeply it was gut-wrenching even to Harry. But the way it all unravelled in his head, it always came around to Ginny being the bad guy. Which wasn’t true, not strictly. Harry knew he wasn’t the easiest person to live with, especially when he got up on his intermittently ridden horse of righteousness. But get up on it he did, and maybe it was just to spite Ginny half the time anyway. It was always so much easier to get annoyed around her.

Draco, for his part, had no inkling of Harry’s inner thought process. He snorted and swirled his pint glass, a melancholy little smirk playing about his mouth. “Different things indeed.”

**

Harry arrived home late Thursday evening to an enormous Great Horned Owl pacing across the front stoop. “Whoa. All right, then. Um, come inside? I guess?”

The owl launched itself upwards and beat its wings furiously at his face, almost managing to knock his glasses off. Harry backed up hastily and stretched a timid hand out for the letter it carried. The owl plucked the envelope from its talons and passed it to Harry with a vicious snap of its beak, then took off in what felt like a gale. Harry ducked the onslaught and stayed down until the sound of flapping receded.

“Bloody hell.” He spelled his front door open with one hand, trying to get into the envelope with the other. Inside, the house was dark; only the light from the kitchen was visible. Harry listened for his children, but heard nothing. He held the envelope between his teeth and wrestled his coat off, dropping his bag in the process. “Shit.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah.” Harry kept his voice as low as Albus’. He finally succeeded in freeing himself from his sleeves, and made it into the kitchen to greet his son. Albus was barefoot, wearing pyjama trousers and a ratty t-shirt Harry had tried to get rid of twice. “Your sister in bed?”

“Just now.” Albus scratched his head and yawned. “She’s sore.”

Harry turned all his attention to his son. “Is she all right? Did the bruising come back?”

That afternoon, Lily had taken a Bludger to the side in a rather potent display of why bespelling random bits of Quidditch equipment before being instructed to do so by a coach was not an appropriate camp activity. If Draco had not spun on his broom and caught Lily when the Bludger hit— Harry rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t going there. He’d already come an inch away from infanticide that afternoon, and the kid’s parents had just spent the last hour apologising profusely for their daughter’s behaviour and begging him to let her continue to attend camp. After that, and two hours at St. Mungo’s before that, making sure Lily wasn’t in danger of organ failure, Harry was ready to drop.

Albus shook his head. “No, it’s gone. Aunt Hermione came over with more salve. Lil’s just tired, that’s all.”

Harry relaxed a little. “Did she eat?”

“Yep. Full plate of pasta.”

“And vegetables?”

“Aw, come on, Dad.”

“Vegetables next time, Al. Or you’re not watching her again.”

“Sorry,” Albus mumbled. Harry passed over to the fridge, dragging his son into a one-armed hug as he did. He planted a kiss on Albus’ mop.

“Get to bed, kiddo.”

Albus shuffled toward the hall and the stairs beyond. “Pasta’s on the top shelf.”

“Cheers.” Harry set the kettle boiling and returned to his letter. The writing on the outside of the envelope was familiar enough to stiffen his shoulders. Inside, Ginny’s pretty scrawl continued:

 _Harry, THANK YOU for your message. How’s Lily doing? Is she all right? I’m stuck without Floo for the evening, but I will give her a call as soon as she’s up tomorrow._

 _Thought you should know: That prat McLaggen heard about your camp already somehow. He’s going to Floo you, probably tonight. Thought I’d give you a warning._

 _~Gin_

Harry sighed and rubbed his face again. If there was something on which he and Ginny could still agree no matter what, it was that Cormac McLaggen was a royal pain in the entire world’s collective arse. Harry got to his feet, put together a cup of tea, and headed out to the sitting room. Might as well get it over with.

As soon as the Floo was lit, McLaggen was bustling at the connection. Harry contemplated just shutting it down again mid-greeting (if McLaggen even bothered with one), but decided to be mature this time around.

“Harry,” McLaggen said, drawing his name out as if he were standing in front of a large audience of international ambassadors.

“Cormac.”

“I hear you’ve got a little camp going this summer.”

Harry bristled. _Well, that didn’t take long._ “Yes.”

“What a splendid coincidence. So’ve I.”

After dragging every detail he could out of Harry’s estranged wife’s teammate, Harry was sure. “Oh, have you?”

“Yes. Just for the children up here in Scotland.” McLaggen laughed and Harry wished he’d thought to set a Muffliato on the stairs. “It got me thinking: I know your kids are just in it for fun and all, but my kids would love to get their brooms dirty. How do you feel about a scrimmage at the end? Yours and mine, for old time’s sake.”

What old times McLaggen was referring to, Harry couldn’t remember. “I’ll need to discuss it with my fellow coaches,” he said as blandly as he could.

McLaggen let out a weird cough-laugh-snort. “Yes, Malfoy, isn’t it? Poor lad. How’s he doing anyway? Making any new friends?”

McLaggen’s stress on the last word made Harry want to reach into the fire and yank his ears off. He ground his teeth together instead, trying to keep his expression clear. He remembered what the newspapers had glommed onto in the months since Astoria and Draco’s split. Stupid rumours, he’d thought then, but these days the distinction was getting a little vague in his head. It wasn’t like it was all that surprising, or so Ron had told him: Draco had an heir to carry on his family name, and if he wanted to take a dip in the other end of the ocean, as Ron put it, he wouldn’t be the first wizard to do so. The only thing that had kept it all on the tame end was Astoria’s marked indifference toward Draco’s supposed new proclivities.

Proclivities. Harry shook himself inwardly, feeling ashamed. Made it all sound like a sordid shame.

Call him curious; it wasn’t every day that someone Harry knew got a divorce and then came, quite sedately, out of the closet with his ex-wife’s blessing. Thing was, Harry had yet to get a straight answer out of Draco on the subject. Or even grow the balls to ask the appropriate questions.

“Cormac, it’s getting late and I’m afraid I’ve had a long day.”

“Yes, it is late, isn’t it? Gin told me you stayed up late, so I thought it would be all right.”

Harry barely resisted rolling his eyes. If Ginny had willingly said one word to Cormac McLaggen about anything, then Harry was really Voldemort in disguise. “I’ll talk to Draco and contact you again with our answer.”

“Sounds great. Ta, Harry, and have a good one.”

The Floo died down and Harry sank back onto his heels with a long sigh.

**

 _Week Two_

“The key is to judge. You have to watch my body rather than the ball. You can tell a lot about where a player will aim by studying the angle of his or her shoulders.” Harry palmed the Quaffle, flipped it into the air and caught it again, flipped it and caught it. At the goal posts, Scorpius Malfoy’s eyes snicked to and fro, tracking each motion. Harry feinted right and Scorpius dove, checking himself almost too late for Harry’s real throw: left and upward. Scorpius barely made it in time, tipping the Quaffle up over the ring with the edge of his hand. His momentum sent him over the top of his broom and Scorpius had to grab hold with both hands to keep from falling off, leaving Teddy plenty of time to retrieve the Quaffle and position himself for a follow-up attempt. Instead of throwing, though, he tossed the ball back to Harry.

Scorpius blew out a sigh.

“No, good,” Harry said, “that was good. But you need to be able to catch the ball, if possible. Control it, because if you don’t, you can bet the other team will.”

Scorpius nodded. “Let me try it again?”

Harry gestured Teddy back. The three students awaiting their turn to the side of the goal posts swung their brooms out a little further. This time, Harry took it more slowly, and was rewarded when Scorpius judged the feints correctly and managed to get his palm around the Quaffle on the actual attempt.

“Good! Better.”

Scorpius wiped his brow and Harry decided a brief respite was in order. “All right, everyone, go get some water, meet back here in five minutes, and we’ll give Sienna a go.”

The two girls took off, and Hugo followed behind. He was still struggling with that broom. Harry frowned, watching it jerk to the left as he flew. He’d have to get Ron to take a look at it.

He let his eyes travel the rest of the way around the field. Draco was in the middle, working with Lily and two other Seeker-hopefuls. Across the pitch amidst gales of laughter, Roxanne, James and Vic were playing a solid round of Drop-Quaffle with the rest of the group: the idea was to toss the balls from person to person as fast as possible, all the while rising and dipping in the air on one’s broom. Hovering was not allowed. There were four Quaffles going, of varying sizes, and each student was only allowed to hang onto his or her ball for three seconds. After that, the Quaffles began—

“Oinking?” Harry came to a full stop on his broom. Behind him, Scorpius laughed.

“Is that what that sound’s called?”

“Yeah. Muggle pigs.”

Scorpius tilted his head. His smile was so wide that Harry got a momentary shock: it was the first time he’d ever seen that expression on features so like Draco’s.

He realised belatedly that Scorpius was speaking to him. “Sorry. What?”

“I said I didn’t know you played Keeper.” Scorpius pushed his blond fringe off his forehead and held it there, looking so uncouth and carefree and relaxed— like a kid in the middle of summer, Harry thought, and was shocked again. He was certain Draco had never once looked like that, and it made him both happy and morose at the same time.

“I never played the position,” Harry answered. “But Rose’s father— You know Ron Weasley? Well, he did, and I got a lot of practise working him through drills. And Albus’ mother is a Chaser, so I can tell you what to expect from them.”

Scorpius nodded. He grinned at Harry again. “Rose is always on about her dad, how good he is. Do you think that Mr Weasley could come one day and—” His expression blanched suddenly. “Not that you’re not good! I mean, you’re _really_ good. I just meant—”

Harry waved him off. “He’s due in next week to give you the workout of your young lives.”

Scorpius’ blush faded, but he ducked his head anyway.

“Better get some water while the getting’s good.”

The boy nodded, perhaps a little relieved, and wheeled his broom.

“Scorpius.”

Draco’s son turned back, flipping his fringe out of his eyes again. He was a tall, lanky kid, limbs almost too long, but he was growing into them quickly. “Yes?”

Harry smiled. “I just wanted to thank you for this.”

Scorpius looked blank. “This?”

“The camp. Excellent idea.”

Scorpius snorted and waved his hand. “Oh, I just did loads of complaining one weekend. The camp was Dad’s idea.”

“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat. “All right, then, get going. Teddy’ll be starting drills again in a minute.”

Scorpius nodded and wheeled off, kicking higher into the air. Harry shaded his eyes, watching him join the rest by the cluster of water bottles, then tracked around the field in an arc again until he found matching blond hair.

Draco glanced up almost as if he’d felt Harry’s eyes, and Harry quickly looked away.

**

“So,” Hermione said, dumping Rose and Hugo’s bags down on one of the empty kitchen chairs. “How’s our resident injury?”

Down the hallway, her children stampeded up the stairs, yelling for Albus and Lily at the tops of their lungs. Harry brought the kettle and biscuits over from the worktop, mugs and sugar trailing through the air behind him. “Like it never happened. Oh, unless the rubbish bins need to be taken out, naturally.”

“Naturally.” Hermione helped herself to tea and a chocolate biscuit. “Well, I’m glad it’s nothing serious, anyway. Because it looked…”

Harry nodded. He knew very well how it had looked. He’d paced a furrow in the floor of Lily’s examination room as the Healer checked her over.

“Rose tells me Roxanne has made her Head Beater,” Hermione said, smiling.

“At the rate she’s going, George will be warming the bench in the Christmas game.” Every year, the Weasleys and their extended family pulled a scrimmage together in the fields behind the Burrow. Harry had taken his share of licks trying to keep from getting pummelled by George’s Bludgers.

Hermione tsked. “Oh, he’ll love it. He’s been waiting for one of the kids to take interest in the position for ages. But Hugo’s always been his father’s son.”

“And he’s quite good,” Harry said, blowing on his tea. “It’s a good thing he’s younger than Scorpius Malfoy, though, because that one…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Let’s just say I’ve half a mind to pit him directly against Al and take bets, saves versus shots. Who cares that they’re both in the same House?”

“I still can’t believe they get on so well. Couldn’t be more different from you and Draco.” She raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her mug.

Harry couldn’t help the flush that climbed his throat. He looked down into his tea. “He’s not what I expected. I mean— Not that I had expectations or— I mean that he’s different. From then.”

Hermione nodded, looking at him like he was a dolt. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Mm- _hm_.”

“What?”

“You two spend a lot of time together.”

Harry snorted and sat back. “Well, yes. We’ve had a curriculum to plan with this camp. There’s loads to do.”

“Yes, dinner every night, so I hear.”

Harry frowned at her. “Yeah. Dinner every night. Like most people do.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, Harry.”

 _“What?”_

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

He coughed and selected a biscuit. “About what?”

“About the Maharaja of Jodhpur. _Him_ , of course! Lord, I think you men act obtuse on purpose sometimes.”

“Not really sure what there is to be curious about,” Harry responded, and then regretted opening her up for it so easily.

Sure enough, she leaned across the table and stared him down. “His life. His story. His divorce.”

Harry glowered. “Only you could say it like that and not sound like you’re itching for gossip.”

“Please. He’s dedicated his life to Muggle and Squib rights issues, he’s just had the most congenial split from his spouse ever, and his son seems to think you’re the bee’s knees. Ever wonder where he gets that?”

“From Al.”

She hesitated. “All right, maybe from Al, too. But I bet you half of what he’s heard came from his father.”

“I was wrong. You are nothing but a filthy gossip.”

“Oh, Harry, if only you’d give me something proper to gossip about.”

Harry turned his glare back to his tea. “I should think you’ve got plenty of that.”

Hermione scooted closer. Her voice when she next spoke was serious. “How is she doing?”

“I don’t really know. The worst part, though? I don’t really care anymore.” Harry sighed, and Hermione reached out and took his hand. “Not for myself anyway. I just wish she’d come back, see the kids more often. You know, before they’re all out of the house like James.”

Hermione sighed, too. “I’m not sure how she does it, really,” she said, contemplative. “I feel like I couldn’t stay away from Rosie and Hugo for a day. I’m going to have a hell of a time letting Rose go off to university. It’s what she wants, you know? And I’ll be one of those crazy mothers, the ones that camp out in the bushes under the residence halls, and Rose will have to pretend she doesn’t know me.”

“No, you’ll just get yourself hired on as a professor and stalk her from the academics wing.”

Hermione snorfled into her tea and slapped him on the arm. “Probably. But you know, Harry,” she said, shifting tone again, “maybe you should try to get your mind off it. Off her, and this, and what it’s going to be like. Gin’s not going to just… suddenly have a change of heart or whatever. She wants to see this through.”

“I don’t see why she can’t ‘see it through’ like this! Like I have. Have Quidditch _and_ the kids. God, they’re growing up so fast! And she’s missing everything.”

“And it makes you angry.”

“Damn right it makes me angry. You know, if it were over someone else, another man or, not just fucking Quidditch—”

She squeezed his wrist and Harry stopped. Sank back and felt the anger drift. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Do you… Do you want her to come back? To you.”

Harry thought about it. For the umpteenth time. “No,” he sighed. “No, that’s past. That’s long gone.”

“Really?”

He looked her in the eye. “Really.”

“Well. That’s good. That’s healthy.” She sipped her tea. And he only just caught the tiny twist of her lip. “Any prospects on the horizon, then?”

 _“No.”_

“Really?” She drew this one out, all canny and sly, and Harry had to drop his gaze.

“Really.” If his voice cracked a little, he wasn’t going to discuss it. But the way she looked at him, it was as if he’d written something in a placard and hung it above his head, maybe next to the clock over the cooker. _“What?”_

“Oh, Harry. It’d be all right, you know. If you started seeing someone.”

“Yeah, right. Just how many Weasleys do you think I need knocking at my door, anyway?”

She shrugged. “I’d be okay with it. And… they would be, too.” She raised her eyebrows, tilted her head, and Harry knew she was giving her blessing for more than just the issue of actual dating. She meant something deeper, too deep for him to pull out and take a good look at yet. Harry squirmed in his chair, sought for another subject, but as the sounds of their children’s voices drifted down from the upper floor, he couldn’t think of anything but the topic Hermione was currently pointing at with everything but her actual finger.

**

Draco sat through Harry’s announcement rather calmly, all things considered. His hands were folded over his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankle. He wasn’t even sitting up straight, but rather settled back into Harry’s couch.

The first words out of his mouth were, “That little bastard arse.”

How Draco managed to sound so cold when he looked so serene was an utter mystery to Harry.

“My thoughts exactly.” Harry took a swig of his stout so he’d have time to get his thoughts in order, stop pondering Draco and start thinking about what they were going to do. With the Quidditch camp. “He seems to think it was his idea, too.”

“Salazar, why did the Ministry not swat him off into Asia somewhere when he worked for them? Let the wizards over there deal with him.”

“Bad international relations. Besides, the way I hear it, he didn’t work for them long enough. In and out, and good riddance.” Harry smiled, but Draco’s brows only knit together.

“So he’s challenging our kids.” Again, Draco’s voice was too calm. Harry’s back prickled.

“Expecting to fly them into the pitch, if I got his tone right.” Harry sighed. “To be honest, this isn’t what I wanted for the summer. This is supposed to be fun. Instructive. They get enough rivalry at Hogwarts.”

“Rivalry can be instructive, too.” Draco’s gaze caught Harry’s and held it. Harry blushed, and then, to his surprise, Draco blushed, too. And looked away. “I think we should let the children decide.”

“You… But some of them can barely stay on a broom!”

Draco sat forward so quickly that he nearly bumped into Harry. “Yes, _this_ week. But by the third or fourth… They’re picking it up faster than I ever did. Probably even faster than you, Godric forbid.”

Harry had been feeling a little red in the face all evening. Perhaps the stout had not been a good idea. Confound Hermione: now that she’d said it aloud (or nearly said it), Harry couldn’t get his thoughts away from it. Even in sleep, it seemed his dreams were dragging over it, twisting and turning around Draco and his divorce, and what he got up to in his private life. It had got to the point where every time he opened his mouth, he was afraid improper questions would come flying out.

It didn’t help that Draco had kicked back into Harry’s couch like he lived there, all limber legs in creased trousers, pearl-grey shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was a casual sweep to one side so that the fringe of it nestled alongside his cheek as if caressing the skin. It was Sunday, there’d been no camp, and Draco’d had to forgo dinner with Harry, meeting him after for drinks instead. It made Harry want to know where he’d been. Who he’d been with.

“Harry.”

“Yes, sorry.” Harry put his bottle down on the coffee table and scooted away from it. Upstairs, Al was chatting over the Floo with Ginny, and Lily was reading the book Draco had brought over— _The Seeker’s Secret: Tips for Intrepid Flying, Vol. 3_. That had floored Harry, before Draco had even rightly got both feet in the door. The way Lily’s eyes had lit up, the way she’d half snatched at the book before reining herself in and waiting politely for Draco to offer it. The way she’d thanked him after, with enough fervour that it might have been her birthday. And then Draco. Harry would almost go and forget he was a father, a thoughtful and contemplative human being, and then Draco would get _that look_ on his face: lines softening, lips tilting up, throat working, and a focus that made Harry feel like his daughter was the only thing that mattered in the world at that moment.

Harry could swear he’d fallen in love once while he was still dating Ginny, at a concert he’d taken her to. It was completely unexpected: the pianist had flown right over his instrument, fingers tripping faster than Harry could see, eyes and heart and mind only for his music, and the way Harry’s heart had shifted over, knocked right up into his ribs while Draco stood in the front hallway handing Lily the book… He remembered that sensation as if he’d been sitting in that concert hall only yesterday.

Chopin’s Ocean Etude. Good god. Harry cleared his throat.

“I don’t want to distract the kids.”

“Oh, no.” Draco waved a hand. His cheeks still looked a little pink. “We’ll offer it to them in the fourth week. See if they’re interested. And McLaggen can bloody well wait till then.”

“All right. Okay.” Harry nodded. That would do well. And he could get on the Floo to McLaggen about his two Owls from yesterday and tell him they’d get to it when they got to it. Their camp was only in its second week and they had things to do. A plan. One that McLaggen’s arrogant swaggering wasn’t a part of.

Harry could recall a time when he’d thought Draco’s swagger was the epitome of arrogance. God, what a few years did for one’s perspective.

“So. Uh. Nice evening?”

Draco looked up, halfway through pouring himself more tea. “What?”

Harry gestured. “Your evening. Whatever you were doing before this. Did you have a good weekend?”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it was all right.” Draco’s jaw worked, and then he shrugged. “Not very eventful.”

“Oh.” Harry tilted his bottle back, but he’d already pretty much finished it off. “Yeah. Me neither.”

This time Draco was the one who fidgeted. “The Wanderers had a bye this weekend.”

“I…” Harry thought back. Yes, he seemed to remember that from one of Ginny’s Owls. “Yes, I think so.”

Draco stared at him. His shoulder jerked a little. “Oh, I. Just thought Ginevra would be in town. Back home. As it were.”

Harry felt lost. “No, I don’t think so. Did she—” But that was stupid; why on earth would Ginny tell Draco Malfoy her travel plans? “Oh. _Oh_. No. She stays with the team. Usually.”

And Draco flushed again. He got up, then sat down again. Gestured. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I just expected—”

“No.” It came out so much more final than Harry’d intended. But he wasn’t sorry. Draco met his eyes, and for a moment, the only sound Harry could hear was the thump of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Right.” Draco stood up again, so quickly he almost bumped Harry. “Should get back. Scorpius is expecting me.”

“Right,” Harry echoed. He got up, too, and walked Draco to the door. It was probably a very good thing that Albus tromped down the stairs at that moment. He saw Draco and headed straight over.

“Hi, Mr Malfoy. I didn’t realise you were here.”

Draco nodded a little curtly. “Albus.”

Albus’ eyes widened. “Wait, could you wait? I forgot— I’ve got one of Scorp’s jackets. Hang on, I’ll just—” He ran for the stairs again. Thundered up and thundered back down, and by that time, any mood that may or may not have existed had been killed.

Draco took Scorpius’ jacket, thanked Harry for washing it, and left.

**

 _Week Three_

“He knows _everything_ , Dad. How to dive, how to feint— He even taught me a way to flip and catch the Snitch while flying upside down. _Upside down,_ Dad! Yesterday he caught the Snitch in fifteen seconds! _And_ he got Miriam Tabor on her broom for ten minutes straight and she’s scared of heights. Lord, he just says something and it’s like— I don’t even know. _Lord_.”

Lily turned her eyes skyward and fanned herself. Harry had to work hard to keep from laughing at his daughter’s adoption of Hermione’s slang. He concentrated on dribbling the football, faking left, then right, then hooking it up with his foot and passing it to her. Lily sprinted, fielding it with her knee, and took it further back.

“Oh my god, Dad, he’s just… I don’t even i>know. He’s soooooo handsome. Did you know he has his own Nimbus 4000 series prototype?”

“Oh? Where’d he get that?”

Lily kicked the ball back to Harry. “He gets it because he’s such a good flyer and they send him their test brooms,” she said smugly. “Scorpius told me. Draco lets him practise on it. I hope he brings it to camp and flies for us!”

“Scorpius?”

“ _No_ , Dad, Draco.”

“Hmm. Think he’d let you fly it when you two get married?”

Lily was dribbling the ball with her knees, bouncing it back and forth. At Harry’s words, she dropped the ball and put her hands on her hips. “Good lord, Dad, I’m only thirteen. And he’s, like, older.” Lily let out a full-bodied sigh. Harry could swear there was a foot-pop. “But he’s _so_ handsome. Lord!”

Harry nodded, waited for her to kick the ball, and booted it back to her. “But you don’t have a thing for Scorpius instead, then? He’s younger.”

Lily slammed to a stop, mid-wind up. “Scorpius? Ew, _no_.” She looked at Harry like he’d just told her he was actually her younger sister and had been all this time. “Gross, Dad. He’s such a child. Like Al. No way.”

“Uh huh.” Harry didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

**

On Tuesday evening, Harry opened the front door. “Come in, hi! Again.”

Scorpius Malfoy greeted him with a wave, then slipped around him to where Albus stood further down the hallway. Draco stepped up after his son, both hands in his pockets. He looked a little uncomfortable.

“You’re sure this is all right?”

Harry gestured him inside. “Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you if it wasn’t. Come on in, supper’s nearly done.”

“We’re having steak,” Albus said as if he were announcing the winners of the Quidditch World Cup.

Draco raised an eyebrow, halfway out of his cloak. “Just steak?” He halted, flicking his eyes to Harry. “I’m sorry, that was… I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Harry took Draco’s cloak and busied himself with finding a hanger in the hall closet. It gave him enough time to school his features back to unconcerned pleasantness. “For the record, we’re also having a salad and garlic bread.”

“But until then, Quidditch!” Al interrupted, clapping his hands. Harry shot his son a look.

“Al?”

“Oh, come on, Dad, it was theory all day today! Please?”

It wasn’t as if either he or Draco could argue. The camp had reached its halfway point and a lot of the students were still disturbingly shaky on some of the basics. It had taken a full Thursday the week prior of running Vic and Teddy ragged trying to instruct in the proper method of formation flying for Harry to realise their little group needed off-broom work. Individually, the kids were really coming along, but as far as working as a team went…

So today had been a shortened day, the brooms left on their racks in favour of instruction on the theory behind Quidditch, flying, and manoeuvres in general. Draco, as it turned out, was a patient, skilled orator, and Harry had been glad to turn the majority of it over to him. So far, no parents had pulled their children out of camp due to the presence of a former Death Eater. Harry figured Draco’s new reputation had exceeded his old, but he could tell Draco was still wary.

Draco followed Harry and the boys to the kitchen. “Where’s Lily?”

“At Luna’s with the twins. It’s Wibspork Hunting Night.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I don’t even want to know,” Draco muttered.

The boys were going on to each other about some new lead singer in some band somewhere— apparently very well-endowed in the bust region, if Harry was understanding their conversation— and Harry gave himself one more second to rethink his idea before turning to Draco. “Listen, are you absolutely starving just yet? Because dinner will keep; we can hit it with a warming charm. I had a thought about getting the boys to work together. Help them with both their skill sets at the same time. Before they fill up on food.”

Draco lifted his chin, indicating that Harry continue.

“Al’s been wanting to work on goal shots, and I know Scorpius has some new tricks up his sleeve. I’ve got hoops set up out back…”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not going to waste away any time soon. Boys?”

“I’m going to pummel you into the goalpost,” was Al’s statement.

“We’ll see,” Scorpius retorted, eyes glinting.

Half an hour later, Al was sending his best to Scorpius’ left and right, and Scorpius was doing a damn fine job of keeping their tallies even. Harry walked up to Draco where he stood near the patio calling out tips to both, and tossed him his old Firebolt. “Come on, let’s really make them work.”

Draco grinned and kicked into the air.

**

Playing in shirtsleeves and jeans was much more freeing than the standard uniform robes. Harry could already feel how sore he’d be tomorrow, but it would be a wonderful sort of achiness, full of accomplishment and earned by having had a good time. Draco rolled and ducked on Harry’s broom like he’d only just tumbled off his own in Slytherin’s final House game. Upon seeing their parents take to the air, Al had immediately sided with Scorpius, putting somewhat creaky Keeping skills to work.

Harry could proudly say he’d put three in a row straight past his son’s head. Of course, Al had also blocked double that. And Harry wasn’t getting _any_ past Scorpius, but Draco sure was. For all that, though, father and son almost seemed to be working in tandem, their flight as smooth as a choreographed dance. At one point, Harry and Al stopped to watch as Draco faked right, flew left, dipped and popped up and flipped over and _got the shot off_ while still upside down, to which Scorpius countered with a San Antonio Slipknot, flying through the hoop itself, hooking a hand around the metal and using the momentum to swing off of his broom and nab the Quaffle with his other arm.

Draco pulled up. “Brilliant! Been working on that?”

Scorpius was huffing and puffing, but grinning a kilometre wide. “Harry’s been helping me.”

By the time all four of them were satisfied (and Draco had been thoroughly put to task by Albus’ Chasing), the sun was setting and the air was filled with the dying scent of summer. Harry left the boys still twisting and swooping on their brooms, and he and Draco retired inside to get dinner on the table. Draco’s cheeks were flushed with exertion, his hair tossed out of place, and his expression held a looseness that Harry had never witnessed before. Draco just looked… carefree.

Harry cleared his throat. “Um— All right, I’ll just get this out to the table. If you want to sit down—”

Instead, Draco stepped up beside him at the counter. “Nonsense. I’ll slice vegetables for the salad.”

And that was another surprise that shouldn’t have been, because Harry had never thought about Draco as domestic. Cooking and such. Not that he thought he couldn’t do it. It just hadn’t really occurred to Harry before. Watching Draco wash the tomatoes and slice them thin with deft flicks of his wand, Harry nearly forgot about the steak he’d been pulling out from under the grill and had to clear a space quickly on the worktop before the heat eroded the hovering spell.

Draco finished the tomatoes and moved on to the carrots and spring onions. Harry checked the meat and put the garlic bread into a bowl. When he looked up, Draco was right beside him. _Right_ beside him.

“Where are your goblets?”

Harry blinked at him, mouth open, and then nearly hit himself gesturing to the cupboard. Draco Summoned four tumblers and filled them with ice water.

“Thank you. For having us.”

Again, Harry had trouble answering. He really had to get himself under control, he thought, shoving it all down as well as he could (it was still lumpy; it stuck out in places, but he managed). “It’s our pleasure.”

 _My pleasure._

Draco swayed towards Harry, his hands full of glasses, eyes on Harry’s face. He opened his mouth, just a little.

The door banged open, spilling Scorpius’ laughter into the house. Draco’s face shivered and he turned away, a jerk of his chin over one shoulder. “Finally had enough?”

Scorpius and Al came into the kitchen. “Never enough. Quidditch, always!”

Al pumped his fist. Harry stepped away from Draco and directed his son to setting the table.

**

As evenings went, it was pretty tame. But as far as Harry was concerned, drinking a glass of wine on his couch next to a laughing Draco Malfoy was just about as good as it got.

“We should definitely have a parents’ pick-up game,” Draco managed around what was nearly outright giggling. “Embarrass the hell out of the kids.”

Harry raised his glass toward his guest. “Something tells me your playing will not be the sort that shames your son.”

Draco took a sip, looking far too thoughtful for the hour. “It will if we set some ground rules.”

“And those would be?”

Draco leaned forward, already gesturing with his wine flute to accentuate his point. “No parent will be allowed to take on the position he or she is used to playing. Think of it, Chang smacking Bludgers, Weasley as Seeker… It’ll be chaos!”

Harry laughed. He had never seen Draco so voluble. It was nice. “I suppose you’ll want me as Chaser, then.”

“No, you’re too damn good at all of it. We’ll have to make you a Quaffle-boy. Put you under the hoops so you can shag balls.”

So Harry might have been feeling a little immature: the comment nearly sent him into hysterics. “Well. That’ll be a welcome change for _me_.”

Draco’s eyes darted in such a way that sobriety crept in, and Harry pulled himself upright on the couch. “Not that… I wouldn’t be against— Um, haven’t really got a problem with it.”

As confessions went— and Harry wasn’t even sure if it was one— this was pretty piss poor. Harry did indeed feel like he was immature, sitting there wringing his hands and trying to tell another kid he had a thing for her. Him, in this case. He wondered when the magnitude of it would hit and he’d start to feel like he’d just been run over by a rampaging Horntail again.

And then Draco met his eyes and Harry felt even more out to sea. He could feel his face heating with incredible speed. He licked his lips and thought about getting up, refilling their wine. And wouldn’t that just look stupid.

“I didn’t—” It burst out of Draco’s mouth with unexpected fervency, and Draco pulled back, leaning into the couch as if it might hide him from his own words. But Harry’s desire for him to continue, to keep going, must have shown on his face because Draco straightened. He set his glass down very deliberately, and Harry just knew, as clearly as anything, that he was buying time to compose himself. “Aren’t you still… with Ginevra?”

Funny that this was the moment Harry felt thankful that Draco had ceased calling her the Weaslette. He wasn’t sure why the thought stuck then. “Well, no. No, she… has other obligations.”

That sounded _stupid_. As if life and their choices were nothing but tick boxes on a survey. _Oh, well, I’ll just be going about Quidditch instead of marriage this month, shall I?_ “Wait, I don’t mean— That’s not what I meant. We… We’re separated.”

“Separated.” Draco looked down at his hands. It sounded as if he were feeling his way around the word with his tongue.

“Yeah.” God, he felt obtuse.

“So she’s not… I mean, you’re not—” Draco gestured. It looked rather frantic, and Harry could barely pull his concentration away from Draco’s hands in time to interpret his question.

“No, I’m.” Was this really happening? Harry blinked. Of course it was _happening_ , Draco was sitting right there, looking right at him, asking… asking what, exactly? “What?”

Draco flushed bright red. It swept over him so quickly Harry’s eyes widened. He looked, good and long, and Draco looked right back.

“Ginevra. Your wife.”

It had never actually sounded wrong, not until then. Harry felt it crawling up his throat, the need to dismantle that phrase, and it shocked him. He and Ginny… It had all seemed so clear until, through Draco’s eyes, it suddenly didn’t.

“We’re married.” Harry cleared his throat. “Still married. But it’s only because— We haven’t had time to be otherwise.”

Good god, he hadn’t even told the kids these sorts of details yet.

Draco eyed him. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“We’re not together anymore.” It should have been blasphemous, but it only felt like a release of some kind, pent up words now gaining their freedom. “Haven’t been for a while now. Actually. But… taxes and, you know. It’s just been easier.”

What had been easier? Letting the kids think there was maybe a chance? If they’d been thinking along those lines at all, and Harry wasn’t even sure of that. They didn’t _act_ like their mother was going to turn up on the doorstep and be enfolded back into the family again, but Harry had never asked. He’d been— they’d both been— content to sit stagnant and let the boundaries fade away until there was nothing recognisable left anymore.

But Draco nodded. “I know,” he said, almost wonderingly. As if it had never occurred to him before either. “I remember.” His fingers climbed up, touched his lip and lingered there, tapping. Draco stared past Harry, through Harry, and then his eyes focussed. “We just did it all. While we were at everything else. It seemed… easier.”

Harry wondered at the difference between them, that Draco had severed ties so completely with his wife, without any of the monetary qualms, the ones Harry had been battling over. Not that he thought he was better than Draco. Just different. Putting quill to parchment over the dissolution of his marriage to Ginny had always seemed so dark and final, something he should put a good deal more thought into; instead he’d just put it aside until he could deal with it better. If that was ever going to happen.

He found he wasn’t angry at her anymore, though. So that was different.

But Draco was still talking. His hands moved again, rising and falling as if he were carrying his thoughts in his palms. “I just… Scorpius isn’t keen on it. At all. Astoria and I wanted to make it final. In every way. To keep confusion down in case I—” Draco cut himself off.

“In case you what?” Every inch of Harry’s skin felt like it was tingling.

Draco shook himself and met Harry’s eyes calmly. “In case I wanted to start seeing another individual.”

A man, then; Draco’s emphasis was clear. Harry swallowed. What was not so clear was whether Draco was trying to tell him anything else. And Harry suddenly and desperately wanted that to be the case.

“Do you, uh.” It was too difficult to hold Draco’s gaze. “And are you? Seeing another individual.”

“Not yet.”

When Harry did lift his head, Draco looked startled, like he hadn’t meant to be so forward. And he was leaning in, too, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers inches from Harry’s. Harry felt brazen: he wanted to reach out, grab Draco’s hand and say, _I don’t want you to see another individual, I want you to see me._ He almost did it.

Draco scooted forward on the couch. He glanced down at their hands. “Harry—”

Harry moved, jerked, really, and his fingers bumped Draco’s, and then Draco was staring at him again, eyes wide, breathing unevenly, and Harry sucked in a breath.

Was he really going to do this? Yes, yes, he was. It was already pretty much decided, had been for a few days, actually, and Harry found himself unwilling to wait any longer. Wanted to get this Bludger rolling. “Draco, would you like to—”

“Yes,” Draco interrupted, and they both stopped. Draco drew himself upright, one hand twitching up to straighten his fringe. “Yes, Harry, I would.”

“We could give it a try, see what happens.” Harry was babbling now, the rush of euphoria so potent.

“Yes, I think we could. Should.” Draco nodded. Inched even closer.

Harry swayed in, feeling pulled, nearer to Draco and his heat and his smell and his mouth.

“Oy!” A thump and a laugh came from above, in Al’s room. An instant later, Scorpius was cackling, the sound muffled by the ceiling, and Harry and Draco jumped apart.

“Scorp, you utter arse!” Albus accused, and there was more laughter.

Draco looked a little shell-shocked, and Harry’s heart rate descended into a heavy thud-thud. He reached out, but Draco stood up, and Harry was suddenly face to face with Draco’s robes.

“I should get him home. He’s got chores to finish, and I need to…” Draco trailed off. Harry stood more slowly, wondering if his legs would hold him. He’d forgotten all about the boys, and the sense of astonishment at their presence was bewildering.

“Yeah, I… All right.”

Draco’s eyes skipped over Harry’s face, and then, suddenly, Draco reached out, grabbed Harry’s collar, and dragged him forward.

Into a kiss.

It was weighty and sweet at the same time, a little harder than Harry was used to. But Draco’s lips parted and it softened, and Harry made a noise in his throat and kissed him back.

After a few seconds, Draco pulled away. “How’s Friday night?” he asked, a little breathlessly.

“I’m… Sure.” Harry nodded. “Yeah. Um, dinner?”

“Yes. I’ll come over. Pick you up.”

 _With what?_ Harry thought, and smiled. Squeezed Draco’s fingers. “Yeah.”

Draco’s mouth shivered; he smiled back, then reluctantly released Harry’s hand and walked toward the stairs to call Scorpius.

**

Harry was already a knotted bundle of nerves, and it was only Thursday. He was having trouble concentrating on the drills he’d assigned the Chasers; luckily, James was more than on top of it, and had them flying circles around each other while passing Quaffles and dodging un-enchanted Bludgers that he and Victoire were knocking back and forth.

Draco was across the field again with the Seekers. But it didn’t really matter where he was; Harry was one hundred percent aware of his proximity at all times, like he’d been stuck with some sort of Muggle electrical current that zapped him whenever Draco moved. Draco sat astride his broom, sleeves rolled up as he lectured the Seekers on whatever it was he was teaching them. They all hung on his every word: even from where he was, Harry could see it.

“Oy, Harry. Wake up, smell the Furnunculus Root.”

Harry spun and came face to face with Ron’s cocky grin. Beyond him, Scorpius, Hugo, Luna’s two boys, Blaise and Seamus’ twelve-year-old daughter Delilah, and little Amy Wilding waited at the hoops. Ron clapped Harry on the back. “Come on, then. Little buggers won’t train themselves.”

“You don’t need me, Ron.”

“No, but I’m pretty sure Malfoy doesn’t need you either. What on earth are you staring at anyway?”

“Nothing.” Harry shook himself and wheeled his broom. “Let’s go.”

Ron put the kids through their paces with the cheeky humour Harry remembered, correcting stance, handholds, and weight distribution. Luna’s boys had an uncanny focus that Harry would never have predicted, knowing their parents, and Amy Wilding turned out to be a little beast, small enough to zip in and out of the hoops, using her tiny body as a physical impediment rather than trying to catch a Quaffle that was as big as her torso. Ron split them up into pairs, and Scorpius took her under his wing to work with her on catching and throwing.

“Got a great group here,” Ron panted, swinging in next to Harry. “How many Houses?”

“Well, Scorpius is in Ravenclaw, and Luna’s twins are both in Slytherin, believe it or not. So is Delilah. Amy’s a Hufflepuff, and you know Hugo. Naturally.”

“Every House represented, then. That’s good. I think they’ll give each other a run for their money next year.”

“McLaggen’s got some of the Hogwarts students, too, don’t forget.”

Ron made a face. “Hermione told me about that. Bet he thinks he came up with this league himself, yeah?”

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t talked to him. But I’m going to have to. He’s challenged my kids.”

“Hermione told me about that, too.” Ron frowned and looked Harry over. “Strangely, though, I don’t think that’s what bugging you.”

Harry shrugged again. Ron lifted a hand and smacked his shoulder.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself! Talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“You’re a colossal liar, Harry Potter.”

There was a glint in Ron’s eye that suddenly had Harry turning to face him head on. “And you already know, you arse!”

Ron grinned outright. “Hermione told me _that_ , too.”

“Well, how the hell does she know?”

Ron threw up his hands. “How the hell does she know anything? It’s Hermione.” He wheeled back and smacked Harry again, this time looking troubled. “Why didn’t you say something, mate? I mean… _Harry_.”

Harry hung his head, glad that the kids were all caught up in their own activities. “Didn’t really know, myself,” he muttered, and Ron sniffed.

“Yeah, that kind of thing doesn’t just jump you in the middle of the night, Harry.”

“Okay, so maybe I’ve suspected!” It was Harry’s turn to throw up his hands. “It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunity to test it out, you know.”

Ron gazed at him thoughtfully. “Until now.”

Harry blushed and looked away. “It’s not… Ron, she’s your sister. I would never have—”

“I know, I know that! That’s not what I…” Ron sighed. He nudged his broom closer. “Look. We all know it’s over. Even if some of us don’t want to admit it yet.”

Harry looked up. “Who?”

Ron just shrugged. “Not important. The issue is that you both tried. All right? You did. I can’t fault your efforts. And she didn’t make it easy. Neither did you, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done.”

Harry studied his friend. “That’s… really mature, Ron.”

“Hey. I can be insightful and wise.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Or just accepting. Thanks.”

Ron nodded firmly. “Damn right, I’m accepting. So.” He turned a fresh grin on Harry and wiggled his eyebrows. “Anyone in mind, then?”

Harry stumbled over the question for too long. “Wait… Hermione didn’t…”

Ron’s eyes widened. “You mean there’s still stuff she hasn’t told me about? Founders, that woman is just— No, she said she thought you might be resetting your sights, as it were. That’s all. Why? Who is it?”

Harry couldn’t help the snap of his gaze, the flick toward Draco where he was now sending Lily and the rest of the Seekers through barrel-rolls. Ron’s entire body stiffened.

 _“Whaaaaaat?”_

Harry sighed. “Ron…”

“No, I mean, _what?_ When? When did that even happen? And bloody hell, mate, why am I the last one to know about this? This is big deal, Harry!”

Harry glared. “Why? Because he’s a Malfoy? Because he was a—”

Ron shut him down with a pointed finger. “Don’t you even start on that, Harry. Because you two never got along! You never saw eye to eye and you certainly never socialised! I’m missing more than a few steps in this how-to manual, and I demand that you get me back in the loop.”

Harry sighed again, feeling defeated and more than a little chastised. “If I can. I’m not even sure I have all the steps myself.”

Ron quieted and came back to Harry’s side. “All right,” he said slowly. Harry was reminded of Draco trying to find his way around what he wanted to say the other night and had to stifle amusement at telling Ron how similar they were. “Well… I hear he’s gay. So. There’s something.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course he’s gay, Ron! We’re seeing each other tomorrow night.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, excuse me. Just trying to be helpful.”

Harry put his head in his hands and Ron laughed. He patted Harry’s shoulder again. “Look on the bright side, mate. At least things are moving in a forward direction.”

**

Draco showed up in black trousers and a black form-fitting, long-sleeved shirt with a collar that hugged his throat and set off contrasts all over the place: eyes, skin, hair, even the pink of his lips. Harry couldn’t help but gape a little when he opened the door.

But he gaped so long that Draco started to fidget uncomfortably on the doorstep. Harry jumped back. “Sorry, um. Come in. Please.”

How to tell Draco that he looked… The word ‘good’ didn’t do him justice. And Harry wasn’t one to go around throwing out romance novel words like ‘ravishing’ or ‘delectable’. Not that he’d read many of those books; Ginny’d had quite a few of them. Maybe that should have been a warning. Or maybe now he really was just being melodramatic.

Draco looked young. He smelled clean and calm, and everything about him— his stride, the bend of his elbows and the way his hands settled in his pockets, thumbs sticking out at his waistline, the set of his narrow shoulders— was eye-catching.

And then Draco turned around in the hallway, raked his eyes down Harry’s form and back up again, and Harry was reminded rather forcefully of what he’d chosen to wear: khaki trousers with a red button-down shirt, tails untucked. He’d tied a black leather choker that Lily had made him round his throat— it had a bright green centre bead that his daughter had picked to match his eyes— and he’d got his hair under control, messily tossed without looking like a bird’s nest. He’d pondered the mirror and thought he looked fine, but the way Draco’s eyes tracked him, Harry began to wonder if he’d seriously underestimated the combination.

It had been a long time since he’d been looked at like that. He could still remember keenly the light in Ginny’s eyes. Draco’s eyes now were dark, pupils blown wider than normal. But it might have just been the dim lighting of the hallway.

“So, listen,” Harry said, gesturing back at the door. “There’re a few restaurants around here, or we could call a cab, or even Floo. Though I’m not sure about the soot.”

Draco nodded a little hesitantly, as if he’d been thinking about something else. He continued to stare at Harry. “Let’s walk. It’s a nice evening.”

Harry stood there for a moment, awkward, then backed toward the door again and let Draco out into the cool air.

“Where are the kids?” Draco asked.

“They’re with various cousins for the weekend. Been planning it for a while. It’s Lucy’s birthday on Sunday.”

Draco nodded and they fell back into silence. Halfway down the block, Harry decided on the curry place the next street over. It was quiet, with a loyal neighbourhood following and not too much in the way of crowds. Besides, the service was friendly and the food uniformly excellent. And Harry had this inexplicable drive to see Draco enjoy each bite.

As expected, the place was not crowded, and they were seated immediately. Harry ordered korma with peshwari naan, and Draco took his time before he chose a mango-based curry over basmati rice. The drinks and a complimentary appetiser were brought out, and by the time the main courses came, they’d spent almost ten minutes not talking.

“So.” Harry thought about reaching, touching Draco’s fingers where they rested just a foot away on the table, and instead began picking at the tablecloth. “Glad to be done for the week?”

It felt a little ridiculous as far as questions went, but Draco’s smile was relieved and open. He adjusted the lay of his napkin in his lap. “It’s good to have a few days. Don’t misunderstand, I love the camp. The children are really enthusiastic, more so than I expected, actually.”

Harry smiled back. “Your idea deserves the enthusiasm, Draco.”

Draco shook his head. “Not my idea.”

“Scorpius tells me differently.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t speak. The smile that finally slid into view was hesitant and genuine, and Harry just wanted to bask in it.

“You look really good tonight,” he said without thinking. More a continuation of his thought process, and for a second, he didn’t know he’d spoken aloud. Draco’s eyes widened a little and a flush climbed up his throat above his collar.

“You look amazing,” Draco answered, quietly, eyes skipping down to the table as he said it. It was a statement, steady and collected, and when Draco raised his eyes again, Harry’s heart thudded.

**

The thing was, it was pretty natural. Harry hadn’t even stopped to think if compliments and candles and the like were things one did on a date with another man. He’d just acted as he normally would have— considerate and genuine— and didn’t worry about whether he was doing anything wrong until much later, when their food was gone and they were headed back to his place. Then he wondered briefly, was pensive and nervous for about two seconds. And decided that it was all bollocks and he’d had a great time. And he didn’t want it to be over just yet.

“You want to come in? I’ve got wine. Or coffee, if you’d rather.” He was still struggling for the right thing to say, but he thought it had more to do with being tongue-tied every time he looked at Draco than with any failure at etiquette.

Draco backed up a little on the steps. “Actually…” Harry’s heart dropped, and swung back up again when Draco gestured. “I sort of need to be home. Scorpius is at my parents’ and he wasn’t feeling all that well earlier. If they Floo, I’d— Would you like to come to mine instead for coffee?” he finished in a rush.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I think I would.”

It wasn’t going to go far tonight. Harry knew that. And maybe that’s why it was so easy; he just wanted to be with Draco. In his vicinity, in reach of his warmth and the scent of his cologne and clothing, exploring this new side of himself delicately, with room to manoeuvre. He felt more comfortable than he had in ages. A little jittery in all the right ways, but not clumsy in all the wrong ones. He hadn’t expected to just… fit like this. He hadn’t thought the date would be a _bad_ fit or anything, but the degree to which they seemed to complement each other in mood and method was a little surprising. And gratifying.

So when Draco suddenly turned to him ten minutes in and inhaled sharply, and kissed him, pressed him up against the wall of the sitting room with their coffees still in hand and held him there long enough to work their tongues into a gentle thrust and sweep against each other, Harry hadn’t seen it coming.

He also didn’t see it coming when he reacted as strongly as he did.

The coffees fell. It couldn’t be helped, and Harry could see that Draco didn’t care in the slightest. Harry grabbed his arm, hooked a hand about his thigh, and pulled him in, returned the kiss while Draco’s hands slid up his back, arms locking tight around him, clinging on as if Harry were drawing the oxygen right out of him. Harry abandoned it all and toppled into it, mouth open and graceless against Draco’s, tasting his tongue and smelling the clean scent of Draco’s skin just under his nose, feeling the soft twist of hair over his thumb when he wove his fingers there. Draco’s body was a plane of heat against him, all along his front, his palms two heated patches radiating into Harry’s shoulder blades. The fabric of his shirt was so _soft_. Like velvet. Harry’s entire body turned toward Draco like leaves toward the sun, and Harry lost his grip on the careful gratification and tugged Draco to him, lifted, pulled him right up against his body.

Draco’s mouth broke from his long enough to gasp for air, and then he was back, licking at Harry’s tongue, weaving his hands through Harry’s hair, frantic as a teenager and rolling his hips upward in a slow, frenetic heave, shuddering as if he were freezing. Tingles zipped down Harry’s spine and pooled in his lower back, and he almost slid down the wall.

“Do you…” Draco breathed, and gave up. Harry had no idea what the question was, and he didn’t care. His whole body was tripping to life, sensations bursting as if he’d been numb for ages. He just wanted it. This, seductive and too slow at the same instant. Draco’s skin was pebbled with gooseflesh where Harry’s hands climbed up under his shirt, gliding over his chest and down to the angles of his hips. Draco moaned, caught his teeth painfully on Harry’s lips in a hitch of breath when Harry brushed the hollow of his stomach, and Harry pushed him back. Went after him.

Draco used the momentum to guide them, stumbling down the hallway to the door at the very end. It was a smaller flat that Harry had expected, and he hadn’t gotten the tour. He wasn’t exactly sad. What he had seen was so very Draco, so very Malfoy, that he’d felt a little chilled at being totally immersed again. Not since sixth year had he felt like that, so completely consumed in every thought, and it was, strangely, like coming back to a well-loved novel, a book with dog-eared pages, a hot mug of his favourite cocoa. The bedroom was in creams and subtle green, the bed in the middle, and it didn’t even strike Harry as odd that he should be laid across it like this so soon, one arm stretched to the side and locked there by Draco’s hand at his wrist, the other tensed in pulling Draco’s hips closer, sliding over the back of his thigh, hitching him as close as he could get. For an instant, Draco relaxed into it, his whole body, and then he was up, muscles flexing. He bent and worked his teeth over the skin at Harry’s throat, inhaling audibly as if surviving on Harry’s smell alone. It was a weird thought, and an unbelievably hot one. Harry shuddered.

“Godric, you’re—” Draco lipped at Harry’s jaw, right where it curved up to his ear. Harry turned his face into Draco’s throat, arched his hips, and shook when Draco’s whole body tensed up. Draco’s hands moved much more quickly then, jerking at the hem of Harry’s shirt and the waistband of his trousers, fingers tugging, and Harry nodded.

“It’s, yes.” He didn’t know what he said. He didn’t give a flying fuck if he’d just asked about the Whomping Willow. He jerked Draco’s shirt up and over his head, irritated at the distance it put between them, and then doubly glad when Draco was back against him, bare-chested and kissing him hard enough to bruise. Draco’s bed smelled like him, Harry was _surrounded_ in Draco’s scent, and he felt overloaded, high on it. Draco worked his shirt open button by button, and then left it and went at Harry’s fly. Harry was suddenly caught with an image of himself, his own bare chest, heaving and sweaty with Draco’s fringe brushing over it, the red of his shirt framing his skin like an intrinsic boundary, and then Draco pulled his head up as if he were coming up out of water.

His eyes were dark, completely blown. His fingers snagged in Harry’s belt loops and the buttons of his fly, and his shoulders rose and fell hard with every breath.

Harry hitched up his hips and shoved his trousers down, grabbing for Draco’s in turn and finding cool metal. He unzipped, unbuttoned, he wasn’t sure which, and then whited out when Draco’s hand found him, snapping every muscle in his body taut with a single touch.

“Oh gods.” It came out of Draco on a breath as Draco stared down at him with intent, hooded eyes. Harry lurched upward, the muscles in his belly hurting, but it was worth it to drag Draco back down, to find his mouth and urge him in again, tongue and teeth, to pull Draco up his own body until he could feel all that heat flat against him. Harry’s fingers found the shallow seam of Draco’s scar, the one crossing from hip to shoulder, and he traced it back and forth until he couldn’t think anymore, and arced his hips upward again instead.

Draco grunted, shivered and nearly dropped atop him. He jerked back instead and yanked his trousers free, kicking them off one leg. Harry never saw if he freed his other leg; Draco angled his pelvis back into Harry’s as he slid down, one smooth, sinuous motion that connected all their heat together at once. Harry hissed.

Draco kissed him. Cupped a hand around the back of Harry’s nape, threaded fingers into Harry’s hair, and moved them together with his mouth hovering at the dip just under Harry’s chin, until they both came and Harry sucked in air too quickly and arched, and Draco said a word against his skin that Harry didn’t comprehend. Draco was still shaking, even when the spots faded before his eyes and Harry began the slow slide back down to the natural world.

**

He woke up very early; Draco’s bedroom was filled with the deep shadow of pre-dawn. He could hear rain outside beating against the windows, but the room itself was cosy and close. Harry turned his head to the left and found the other side of the bed vacant. He stretched a hand out, fingering the sheets. They were still warm.

Loo, then, perhaps. The door to the toilet was closed, but the angle of Harry’s eyesight did not allow him to see if there was light underneath. He sighed and stretched both arms over his head, arching his back a little. His muscles were heavy and achy. Satisfying. He felt like he was still half asleep, too tired to lift his head, even to turn over properly. Like he would burst some warm cocoon if he moved too much.

Draco’s room. Draco’s _bed_. It didn’t feel as surreal as Harry would have thought.

When Draco came back into the room, not from the toilet as expected, but from the hallway and fully dressed, Harry came a little more alert.

Draco stepped over to the bed and bent, pressing a sweet kiss to Harry’s mouth. “No, don’t get up,” he murmured, “I’ve got to go. Had a Floo from my mother. I need to take Scorpius to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry pushed up on his elbows, wide awake. “What— Is he all right?”

Draco nodded, pressing a hand gently to Harry’s shoulder. “Just a nasty stomach bug, I think. He’s been vomiting for the last hour. But he’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Draco didn’t look worried, just intent, and it sliced through some of the concern clogging Harry’s throat.

“D’you want me to—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Take your time. Might be there for a few hours, you know how they are on a Saturday.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. I’ll just lock up when I…” He gestured and Draco smiled, a tiny quirk of his mouth. He leaned over slowly and kissed Harry again, full and exploratory. Harry groaned and sank into it until Draco broke the kiss.

“Want to see you again,” he murmured, the words themselves brushing at Harry’s lips. Draco pressed yet another kiss, dreamy, as if he wasn’t quite aware he was doing it. Harry heard his breath catch a little. “I’m…”

He took Draco’s chin in his hand and kissed him firmly. Ended it, but remained touching Draco’s jaw. “Go take care of your son,” he whispered, smiling. “I’ll see you after.”

The look on Draco’s face slid into relief. He found Harry’s fingers and squeezed them.

**

So that was his first sexual experience with a man. Harry wondered several times over the remainder of the weekend whether he should feel more gutted, more shoved off his axis. But he just… wasn’t.

All he felt was warmth, a haze of it blanketing the hours like a snug winter quilt. And he wanted to do it again, but not just to do it. He wanted it with Draco. He wasn’t sure where this sudden push was coming from, because it certainly hadn’t been there before. He’d liked Draco, been interested in Draco, but this was a physical need to be in his presence. Within arm’s reach at the very least, and as often as he could.

He thought of that night, Draco’s fingers clutching into his forearms, the sultry heat of Draco’s mouth and the feel of it plying his own, the comforting pressure of Draco’s weight and the smell of him, and Harry’s body reacted all over again: quickened pulse, shaky hands, a burst of distinct giddiness in his chest that filtered out for minutes after.

He didn’t think he was in love just yet, but it wouldn’t take much to get there, of that he was certain.

It all just fit.

So Harry did something he hadn’t quite got round to. Far simpler to sit in the eddies watching the current race by. Except eventually his little pool would erode and he would be swept into the current anyway. The end result was inevitable, and it had taken Draco to douse him in frigid water and suggest that he open his eyes and actually look at it. Leap into the current on his own, and take his chances swimming while he was still strong.

Harry pulled out parchment. Read through it. Signed his name to the bottom of each page and unofficially— until witnessed by a solicitor— ended his marriage to Ginevra Weasley. Then he sat back and stared at the blank spots where her loopy signature would eventually go, and wondered how it was about to make him feel.

**

 _Week Four_

Monday was rainy and grey. Thunder rolled far off, but on the Quidditch pitch, the children were all dressed for inclement weather and raring to go. Harry let James lead them in warm ups, then split the kids into drill groups for the morning, hoping the storm would hold off at least until lunch. Half a day was better than none at all, and maybe Harry could get them all into the Wizarding café down the road for a group meal or ice cream, as a treat.

Draco was setting the Seekers up with their brooms and one Snitch each. The Snitches’ wings whirred in flurries of gold: they’d been enchanted to evade one specific Seeker without getting too far away, in order to teach them how to mark and follow. Harry made his way over.

“Think we’re going to get rained on today. If it gets too heavy, I want to pull them in early. Don’t want anyone catching cold.”

Draco nodded, a bit roughly. He had on a dark blue jumper over ash trousers, and a wool cap that hid all but the ends of his hair. “All right.”

“Speaking of illnesses, how’s Scorpius?”

“He’s…” Draco’s eyes drifted to where his son stood near the group of Keepers assembled around Teddy, where they were gathering equipment. His jaw twitched. “Harry, I’m sorry, can I speak with you about it after camp?”

Harry opened his mouth, shut it, and nodded. _Draco_ nodded. Smiled, a little weakly. He lifted his hand in a lukewarm sort of gesture, and retreated. His attention stayed on his son as he walked, and Harry got an uneasy twinge in his gut.

The idea that Scorpius might be a lot sicker than he’d thought flickered in.

Harry swung onto his broom, brushing the notion away. Draco wouldn’t allow his son out here if he were really ill. Harry took the Keepers and set them to ducking and diving around the hoops so they could limber up, then belatedly realised he was a player short.

Scorpius was still back by the equipment, slowly pulling on a pair of gloves. Harry frowned. Scorpius looked wan and tired, his movements stilted. Harry hadn’t expected to hear from Draco during the weekend, what with the demands of a sick child, but now he wondered if Scorpius could do with sitting out, watching the play for a change.

Harry left Teddy watching the Keepers and set down on his broom, jogging over. “All right, Scorpius?”

Scorpius gave him a quick, almost sharp glance, and looked back down. He nodded. “I’m fine.”

Harry decided he’d be the judge of that himself. “Why don’t you come over to the hoops? You can help me with Amy’s form. She’s still dropping her left shoulder.”

“No, I think I’ll try Chaser today.” It came out almost as one word. Scorpius grimaced and didn’t wait, just took himself over to Roxanne with a deft push on his broom. Harry watched him go.

Odd. He’d need to take Draco aside, find out just how much energy Scorpius should actually be expending today. He sent his Patronus over to Roxanne with instructions to keep a close eye on him, and returned to the Keepers.

The morning ticked on in increments. Eventually Harry decided he’d take stock of the group as a whole, find out where everyone else was at. He rose up above the play and shaded his eyes against the drizzle. On the far side of the field, Draco was helping one of the Seekers with a slow-motion Wronski Feint. Harry longed to just fly over there, pull him aside and… He wasn’t sure what would happen after, and he wasn’t all that concerned either way: he just wanted to be near him again. Hear his voice. Catch the familiar tilt of his smile.

But this wasn’t the time or place. Harry resigned himself to dealing with other things. Today he was going to announce the challenge from McLaggen. He’d sent Draco an Owl Saturday evening, letting him know and asking after Scorpius. Draco had responded with a quick but warm acknowledgment and the assurance that his son was recovering well.

He turned his attention to the Chasers. Roxanne had things well in hand, with Victoire offering tips from the sidelines, and everything seemed to be moving along as normal.

Until Scorpius sent a Quaffle slamming straight into Al’s stomach.

“Ow, Scorp, bloody hell!” Al winced, tucking the ball under one arm and rubbing his belly gingerly. Scorpius’ expression remained as flat as stone as he watched Al.

And Harry watched Scorpius.

**

“All right! Everyone quiet down!” Harry clapped his hands to get the kids’ attention. “Lysander? Sit.”

Luna’s other son, Lorcan, grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him to the ground. Lysander sat with a thump, turned around, and elbowed his brother. “I was _going_ to sit!”

Several of the other kids giggled, and Harry took a headcount to make sure they weren’t missing anyone. All the junior coaches were to Harry’s left; Roxanne had two little kids vying for position in her lap, and Teddy seemed to be wearing one of the Seeker-elects as a backpack. The rest of the kids had seated themselves in vague groups according to the positions they’d been working on most.

But… Once again, Scorpius was sitting apart from the other Keepers, a dull expression on his face. He wasn’t anywhere near Al either, and that was unusual. Al, for his part, was staring at Scorpius openly, a scowl pulling the corners of his mouth downward. Harry looked for Draco’s reaction and discovered that Scorpius was as far away as he could be from his father as well.

Harry shook himself back to the matter at hand. “Okay, listen up, I have some very interesting news. It seems we’ve been challenged.”

“Challenged?” James called out. “You never told me that!”

“I’m about to, if you’ll be patient. An old schoolmate of ours—” Harry gestured to Draco, standing silently behind him, “Cormac McLaggen, has a Quidditch camp of his own up in Scotland with some of your classmates, and he has issued a friendly invitation to play against his campers next week.”

Lots of muttering and a few excited squeals. But Harry couldn’t help noticing that some of the kids looked uneasy. In the front row, Amy Wilding raised her hand.

“Yes, Amy?”

“Are they good?” she asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen them play, personally. But you already know most of them.”

Amy hesitated, then raised her hand again. “I mean… What if they’re better?”

“I don’t want to play them,” someone else piped up, sounding far too upset about the situation. Several other voices agreed, and Harry was dismayed at the frowns he saw, the gnawed-on lower lips. He glanced back at Draco for some help— surely he’d have words ready for this— but Draco was chewing his own lip, looking distracted.

“Listen. Guys? All right.” Harry crouched down, eye to eye with the kids sitting directly in front of him. “First, this isn’t meant to be about beating them. And it isn’t about them beating us. You’re all learning here. These are your friends. Al, isn’t Dina MacDougal playing for Cormac, from Hufflepuff?”

Al nodded.

“And Lucy Thomas and Cora Towler? Delilah, I think you share a dorm room with them?”

Delilah Zabini nodded. Harry saw her smile.

“I know for a fact,” he went on, “that the Lovegood twins are best friends with Jacob and Warren Babcock, and that Kieri Fawcett is in Ravenclaw with my daughter, Lily. Listen. The only real challenge here is for you to all practise what you’ve learned this summer, and to share it with your friends. Learn from them, too. Have a good time getting to know each other on the pitch because, come fall, you’ll all be flying together and having loads of fun.”

The frowns had mostly disappeared, and though Harry could still see some pensive expressions, he figured he could address those individually. He let them talk amongst themselves for a moment before dragging their attention back. “So. What I want to know is… _What_ are we going to call our team?”

Immediately the kids began shouting out potential names. Harry laughed and waved them down. “Think about it, all right? I want everyone with ideas to bring one— only one each, got that?— to practise this Thursday and we’ll have a vote on Friday. I hope to get more suggestions than I can handle, is that clear?”

A few of the kids saluted, including James, at whom Harry glowered.

**

The actual rain held off, and it wasn’t until deep in the afternoon when practise was over that Harry found a moment to breathe. He used it to locate Draco.

He felt wired, his skin tingly. And his heart tripped faster just thinking about finally getting to talk to Draco again. He wanted to see him. Go out again, or even just sit at home with dinner and wine after, and… be with him. Listen to his voice and study the curve of his jaw, the lines of his hands as he gestured and talked, the way his eyes sparked when the topic turned.

Touch him again. Kiss him. Sleep in bed beside him and find his hand under the blankets and just know he was there.

God, he felt like a teenager.

He found Draco over at the equipment store, collecting balls and brooms. Harry approached just as Draco had relinquished the last child into the care of his parent and turned to put the Quaffles back in their crate. Draco looked sick: his eyes stood out from his face in their hollowness. Bags under them, and a thin twist to his mouth.

“Hey,” Harry said. His stomach twinged, wondering again at what could make Draco look so unsettled. If Scorpius was worse than they’d thought, if he had some sort of— No, Harry wasn’t jumping to conclusions about this, he’d find out in a minute. “All right?”

Draco didn’t answer immediately. “No. I’m not.”

It wasn’t standoffish. But there was a warning in it, one that hit Harry on some deeper level and stalled his feet. He forced himself into motion again and went over to Draco’s side. “Scorpius isn’t… He’s still sick?”

“No,” Draco said without hesitating. “No, he’s got over most of it. Should be back to normal in a couple days.”

“Are you sure? He’s been… not himself today.”

Draco’s entire body sagged. He lifted a hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I need to talk to you, Harry.”

Harry drew him aside, fingers on his elbow. Draco very nearly melted into the touch, dipping his arm further into Harry’s grasp and leaning in bodily. Harry blinked. He guided Draco off to one side and turned to face him. But Draco stepped back out of reach, and it was then that Harry noticed the true weariness on his face.

“Harry, I’m sorry.” He said it quickly, as if slicing it out of a swollen wound. His throat worked and he looked Harry in the eye. “I’m afraid I can’t do this.”

It didn’t hit, didn’t drown the upwellings inside him. Harry inhaled and let it out. “You can’t.”

Draco’s hand twitched as if he would reach out, but ultimately stayed at his side. “I need you to know that it isn’t a matter of not wanting it. You. If that were the only thing, I’d take it in both hands and I wouldn’t look back. But it’s not the only thing.”

All this time, Draco had met Harry’s eyes squarely, had never looked away. Now he did, visibly gathering himself. “This weekend, I… Things are a little rough right now. At home. I need to take care of my son. Scorpius comes first. He has to come first.”

For a second, Harry was completely lost, and then it fell into place. Whether because Draco had told him or he’d figured it out on his own somehow, Scorpius knew about them.

He knew, and he’d reacted badly.

Harry’s mind went peacefully blank. All he could see was the look on Scorpius’ face that morning, the single glance before the boy had turned away from him. And now Draco’s look, pleading silently, sick and sad, but resolute.

“Okay,” Harry said. His own voice sounded too calm, as if they’d been discussing an interesting book or an alteration to the camp’s routine.

“You need to understand.” Draco moistened his lips, then bit the lower one and shut his eyes for an agonised instant. “This isn’t about you. Well, it is, but— it’s nothing you did.”

“What happened?” He thought he managed it clearly, without the wrong emphasis. His ears buzzed, a low drone that ran under the sounds of the children packing up to go home.

Draco looked away. His shoulders rose and fell, and he crossed his arms over his chest, clasped at his elbows. Shook his head.

Harry tried to watch him and couldn’t. He wanted an explanation. Details. What Scorpius had said. But he couldn’t ask and it wouldn’t do any good: somehow Harry knew Draco would not budge, and he couldn’t imagine what he himself might say that wouldn’t mean ‘Is your child really that important?’

“I don’t want this to end,” he said. Whispered it. Draco looked at him with ravaged eyes, as if Harry had cut him. Harry tried again. Different words, same meaning.

“I can’t lose you, you’re…” He couldn’t finish, not with that expression on Draco’s face, not with the way Draco curled in on himself, hugged his own torso, whitened knuckles and trembling shoulders and _no words_.

“I’m…” Tears glittered at the corners of Draco’s eyes. His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Those were words. But they didn’t fix anything. Draco swayed toward Harry and then caught himself, forced himself back. Pressed his lips into a line. “Please. Don’t…”

Draco swallowed. His eyes drifted over Harry’s shoulder to where Harry was suddenly, uncannily certain Scorpius was waiting— watching?— and he stepped away. Nodded, and left.

**

It was hard to concentrate on anything. But Quidditch camp went on, because that was what life did, and Harry found himself jolted out of his thoughts in the middle of the pitch or staring dully at the wall while Lily finished off her broccoli and Al asked him the same question for the third time.

He went to the shops for groceries, got his daughter to her friends’ houses when she had plans to stay the night, and helped Al polish his aim with a Quaffle in their backyard. He had trouble thinking. He sent McLaggen an Owl accepting his scrimmage proposal rather than speaking to him directly; he’d ceased to care how that made him look. At camp, Draco stayed out of his way. They dealt with coaching meetings like adults. They took turns talking to the kids and answering questions about the scrimmage. They split up the uncertain ones to work with individually.

Harry felt like he was looking at himself from within another skin, wondering why that man didn’t make more of an effort. Summon energy. Fight back.

In his bedroom at night, Harry sagged against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, and felt cold, like someone was missing from beside him. It was ridiculous: Draco had never been in Harry’s bed, never held him here or spoken within the confines of these walls. Never lain on this mattress, skin to sheets, skin to _skin_ , and yet Harry felt like he should have been there. Everything was out of place, everything dimmer. When Harry inevitably got up and turned on the lights, the glow only made the shadows darker.

At camp, Scorpius avoided him. He also avoided Al, a fact that became disturbingly clear as the week went on. Al ranted, griped, called his best friend names Harry couldn’t ever remember hearing from his son’s lips, and overall bemoaned the fact that he had no idea what he’d done to make Scorpius so angry with him.

Harry had never been at such a loss. He spoke to Draco about it once.

“If Scorpius is angry with me, that’s fine.” He did not look at Draco. The rain drummed down, soaking the pitch and half-concealing the kids who were trying to keep their grip on slippery equipment. Harry shivered and wiped water from his eyes. “But Albus doesn’t deserve it.”

He had the impression that Draco nodded. The skin of Draco’s throat was slick and pale, moving faintly with the beat of his pulse. The taste of it, the memory, burst over Harry’s tongue like a dream fragment, and Harry bit at his lip.

“I’ll talk to him,” Draco said softly.

And that was the extent of it.

**

“Harry? I’m… Hello. I got your Owl.” Ginny’s face was sallow in the glow of the Floo. She stared out at him with wide eyes, looking much like the girl he’d fallen for so many years ago.

“Hi, Gin.”

“Hi.” He could see her shifting, trying to find a more comfortable position for this call. Harry knew there was none. Even if they’d been sitting in rolls of plush velvet, there would be little comfort to be derived. She leaned forward, bringing her face into clearer view. “I was a little surprised. If you don’t mind my saying.”

Harry smiled wanly. “I was, too.”

“Okay.” She looked down, rustling parchment that Harry knew like the back of his hand yet could not see. “This is all of it?”

“Yes. Take a look over it, see if there’s anything amiss.”

She shook her head, still looking at what she held. Shook it again. A strange smile skipped over her face and vanished. “I guess I just… Well. I don’t know. Just thought maybe we might— Someday.”

“Yeah.”

She frowned a little and looked up at him with a new awareness. “Did you… meet someone, then?”

Harry wanted to say yes. Wanted to say no. Wasn’t sure which one was the truth, and it all felt much too large to delve into. “I thought I had. Turns out that isn’t the case.”

He could feel her eyes on him. Harry sighed. “But. That doesn’t matter. The fact is, this needs to be done. Needs to be finished, for both of us and for the kids.”

After a long moment, Ginny nodded. “What will we tell them? Have they been asking? Al didn’t say anything when he and I last—” She stopped, looking just as lost as Harry, and his melancholy deepened. She was still Ginny, his friend, his wife. She was struggling with this, too.

“Maybe you could come back next month? We could get James over. Have dinner and let them know where everything stands.”

She nodded more firmly. “Just to be sure.”

“Yes.”

“Harry, I… didn’t imagine this for us.”

There was finality in her voice, and regret. Helplessness. He knew she hated feeling out of control. He longed to reach through the fire and take her hand, let her know that at least she wasn’t alone.

“Neither did I, Gin.”

**

“The Chimaeras.”

Teddy’s quill scratched. “Got it.”

“The Melancholy Moping Mooncalves.”

Scritch, scratch. “Godric Almighty. All right.”

“The…” Harry raised his eyebrows. “The Godric Almighties.”

Teddy looked up. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even remotely.” Harry discarded such creative suggestions as The McLaggen Murderers and The Sexy Slutty Salamanders for obvious reasons. “All right, Monday’s morning session? Sportsmanship and inappropriate language.” He dug deeper; they were getting to the bottom of the bag. “The Posh Pixies.”

“Yep.”

Harry pulled out the last offering. “And... The Prancing Purple Unicorns.”

“That’ll be Evie Nott’s suggestion,” Roxanne piped up. “She’s obsessed. Unicorn stickers all over her broom.”

“How many total?” Draco asked from the other side of Harry’s sitting room. It was the first time he’d spoken that evening, and Harry resisted looking at him. For about two seconds.

Draco did not look back.

“Um… Eight suggestions altogether.” Teddy glanced up from his list. “How’s the vote going to work anyway?”

“We could use Secrecy Parchment,” Victoire offered. “Pass the list around and have everyone tick which one they want. Their marks’ll disappear when the list goes to the next person, and we can charm the parchment to accept one mark for a first choice and one for a second.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea. Vic, can you prepare a list on Secrecy Parchment for tomorrow?”

“Sure, I’ll get Dad to help. He’s always got some extra lying around from Gringotts.”

“All right.” Harry stood up, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “I think that’s it, then. I’ll contact McLaggen, make final arrangements. Teddy and Roxanne, I’m putting you two in charge of planning the end-of-camp picnic. That’s the scavenger hunt, the parents’ pick-up game, and the potluck. Draco and I will be handling the main course. I suggest people with last names ‘A’ through ‘L’ bring salads, ‘M’ through ‘Z’ bring desserts. Now, everyone, go home. Have dinner, get some rest.”

It took everything he had not to open his mouth and invite Draco to get his dinner with Harry. He kept his eyes on Draco as everyone gathered up their cloaks and departed, stomach churning in a slow and steady roll, but Draco never quite met his gaze.

**

“So I called for the Quaffle, but he completely ignored me and passed it to Anthony instead, and of course Evie stole it, like I knew she would. And then Scorpius just— Dad, you’re not even listening to me.”

Harry jerked himself upright on the couch and stared at his son. Albus frowned back. He was balanced on the edge of the recliner with both hands locked on his kneecaps.

“I… No, Al, I wasn’t, I’m sorry.”

“Godric, you’re so spacey lately.” Al sighed and slumped back into the recliner, kicking his long legs up and letting them fall with a thunk against the carpet. “Sorry if I’m boring you or whatever. I don’t know who else to talk to! James doesn’t even like Scorpius, so he wouldn’t care that I’m losing my best—”

“You’re _not_.” It came out fiercer than Harry had planned, and Albus looked at him with wide eyes. But Harry needed it to be true, needed to not watch his son fall apart through no fault of his own. Harry rubbed his face with both hands and felt like the world was just too heavy this month. “Al, I’m sure it’s not your fault. He’s going through… through some tough stuff right now, and—”

“Well, he needs to man up and stop taking it out on me! I didn’t do anything to him!” Albus threw his hands up and fell back, slid down the chair until his back looked like a wet noodle. “I just want to punch him. He’s being such an arse! He’s even being an arse to his dad, would you believe that?”

Harry sighed. He felt both righteously indignant and lower than dirt for causing all of this. “Yeah. I would.”

“Oh, but you know what really ticks me off? He’s an arse to _you_. He barely even listens to you anymore at camp. Just sits there and sneers like he thinks I can’t see it. No, wait, I bet he knows I can and that’s why he does it! Bastard.”

“Albus, do not call your friend a bastard.”

Al managed to look a little shamefaced, and it made Harry’s heart jump upward a little: maybe there was still hope for them, at least.

And maybe he needed to ‘man up’ and correct what he could of this.

“Look. Al.” Harry chewed his lip, looking at the ceiling while he sorted out his words. “I think he’s mad at me.”

Al snorted. “Why? You’re only ever nice to him. Salazar knows why.”

“Al, he’s upset because his father and I—” No, that was all wrong. He had to start earlier, give his child a proper lead-up so that he didn’t incur more justified wrath. “You know how your mother and I have… have split up.”

Albus raised one eyebrow, a trick he most certainly had not learned from either of _his_ parents. “Yeah, Dad. I was there.”

Harry sighed. “All right. His dad— Draco and I have been… Well…”

His courage failed momentarily and he met his son’s eyes, trying to get him to put the pieces together, but Albus just continued to look at him like he was particularly thick. Harry dropped his head and sat forward on the couch. God, was he glad Lily was out for the night. “Draco and I have… grown closer over the past few months. What with the camp and all. And we just—”

“Wait.” Al held up a hand. He resumed his perch on the edge of the recliner; his face was a weird, hard mask, not quite any particular expression. “Wait, are you _dating_ him?”

Well, he’d always known his son was brighter than he pretended to be. Harry took a deep breath and nodded. Then shook his head immediately. “We did. But not anymore.”

“What do you mean, not anymore?” Albus’ voice grew a little shriller. “Are you or aren’t you?”

Harry resisted the impulse to close his eyes. “We went out on one date. But… we called it off. So, no. We’re no longer dating. Clear enough?”

Albus’ nostrils flared. His eyes dropped to the floor and he nodded. But Harry could almost hear the speed of his thoughts. He wondered what he would be bombarded with next: the whys? God forbid, the whats? Maybe something as simple and terrifying as the hows, because Harry was pretty sure none of his kids had suspected he might like other men.

Albus was quiet for a moment, still looking the carpet. “Is that why Scorpius is mad at me?”

Harry took a second to think about what he was going to say. Either way, it was so beyond unfair that there were no good words. “It could be. Yes.”

And then it hit him that he’d been so concerned with his own issues in this discussion that he’d failed to realise how scared he was of Albus’ sense of betrayal. Harry stared at his son, desperately willing him not to react badly.

As Scorpius must have done. Harry pressed his fingers to his temples to stave off the headache.

“So, you’re gay.”

He let out his breath in a long whoosh. “I don’t know yet. I don’t think so. What your mother and I had was very real. But what I have… had. With Draco Malfoy. That’s also real.”

Al nodded. His eyes were fixed on his hands. After a moment or two, he shrugged his shoulders, more of a gathering of self than an indication of opinion. “Makes sense, then.”

“What?”

“It makes sense. Dad, he took it really hard. His mum and dad splitting up. They just— It was all so fast and simple, and he— He’s been doing a lot better since camp, but…” Al nodded again. “He took it really hard.”

It took Harry a second to figure out who they were talking about. Maybe he really needed to get his head out of his own arse. “I hadn’t realised.”

Al shrugged again. “He doesn’t talk much about it.” His expression twisted. “It’s just so easy for you, you know? You figure out you want to split and you do it. And then, what’s left for us?”

Harry grabbed his son’s hand and literally yanked his attention back. “Wait a minute. Albus, it’s not _easy_. It’s not… Al, figuring out that I wasn’t happy with your mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and that includes killing Voldemort.”

Al looked incredulous. But finally the right words were coming and Harry wasn’t about to stopper them.

“We were supposed to be perfect. Your mother and me. We were supposed to have a family, raise our beautiful children together. Be happy forever. It took me years to accept that I was wrong about that. That one of us wasn’t happy, and that it might not necessarily be your mother.”

“I don’t know if I understand.”

Harry sought for some easier way to explain, but there really wasn’t one. He kept hold of Albus’ hand. “We want different things. From life, from each other— I can’t speak for… for Draco. And Astoria and Scorpius. Naturally. But I know that your mum wanted things from me that I not only couldn’t give, I wasn’t willing to give them anymore. To make believe and convince myself that everything was the way it had been. And I wanted things from her that she couldn’t give me.”

Al’s eyes slid away. “And Draco Malfoy can.”

“I have no idea. Actually…” Harry sighed. Time to face facts. “I really doubt it. He’s made it clear that we’re not at the same place. And I… _we_ have other obligations.”

Al studied him keenly. Harry didn’t like it. It reminded him far too much of Ginny’s ability to glean a great deal of information out of very little. He went on, hoping to head off any questions.

“Look, Al. I’m not trying to justify what happened, or to fix it all for you and Lily and James. I had no idea you three had taken it so hard.”

“I don’t think we three have,” Al cut in softly. “Lils and James actually seem all right. They don’t seem to… care. Much. I’m the one who’s having trouble, and I just thought— well, if they weren’t, then I—”

“Still have every right to hate it, and resent it, and scream at us about it. Understand?”

Albus looked up and away again quickly. But Harry felt the tremble of his son’s fingers against his palm.

“I miss Mum,” Al breathed, then let out what might have been a giggle, given other circumstances.

“I miss her, too. Yes, Al, _I do_. No matter what we’ve failed to be, she is still one of my closest friends, the person who knows me best, someone I have counted on for years. I’m sorry it’s come out this way.”

“Me too.”

Harry took a moment, let the silence settle a little. He squeezed his son’s hand again. “Al, we’ll work through this together. I’m not going anywhere, I swear it. You and your brother and sister are the most important things in my life and I will never do anything to jeopardise that.”

 _And I think I get it now, Draco. I get it, and this is so incredibly frustrating, and I owe you an apology, too._

**

He thought about sending Draco an Owl. In the end, he had no idea what he would say. _I want you back_? _I still think about you_?

 _I miss you like I have never missed anyone else in my life?_

That one was so much the truth that Harry’s heart ached just thinking about quilling the words. He hadn’t noticed when it happened, but Draco had become such a staple in his life that it was devastating to know he would be from henceforth bereft. Oh, Harry knew he’d see him, speak to him. They might continue this camp next year, and if they did, Harry would be socialising with Draco Malfoy fairly regularly.

But he would not be in Harry’s life the way Harry felt he was meant to be.

He _wanted_ a relationship with Draco. Wanted to try it out and fight to keep it going and experience everything that had been missing from his marriage, and just be happy again, like he used to be. Maybe it was unfair to put that much expectation on Draco’s shoulders, but Harry sincerely believed Draco was the one who could give it all to him. Help him enjoy his life again. Challenge him and make it worthwhile to meet that challenge head on.

The worst part was that Harry knew he _could_ survive with less than that. They could see each other daily and have nothing more ever happen between them, and Harry would be all right in the end. But god, would it hurt. For a long time. Eventually that ache might fade, but Harry didn’t want to reduce something so visceral to a feeling he was content, even eager, to shove aside. Something he possibly even resented.

But Draco had made his stance clear. Nothing about his reasons had changed, and Harry had to admit that he understood those reasons. Losing the faith of one’s child was not an option. When Harry had decided to have children, he’d agreed to put them first always, at the expense of his own comfort if so required, until they could take care of themselves. It was part of being a parent. He understood it. Draco understood it.

Harry thought for a long while, parchment and quill side by side on his desk, and discarded a hundred notes in his head before they ever took physical form. He had to get up a couple times and leave the room, get himself a glass of water, a mug of coffee, even take a cold shower at one point when he allowed his memories to grow a little too vivid. In the end, it made him angry. It helped nothing to think about that night. It _did_ nothing. Just made him frustrated over what he wasn’t allowed to have.

Finally, Harry put the quill to parchment.

 _Draco,_

 _There are a lot of things I’d like to say. You and me, we’ve always been beyond complicated. But I know why you’ve done what you’ve done. I understand. I even agree. I am sorry to have caused strife between you and your son, especially at such a delicate time in Scorpius’ life._

 _I don’t wish it had never happened. I just wish it hadn’t hurt anyone, especially you._

 _Yours,  
Harry_

It felt counterproductive to add the words that tried to come out on the tails of the others: _If you ever change your mind—_ No. Clichéd and trite, and pretty much dismissive of everything he’d already stated.

As disappointing as it was, Draco had not left Harry hanging on any hooks. Harry was going to do the same.

**

 _Week Five_

Harry had scheduled the scrimmage with Cormac for the Saturday after the final day of camp. He couldn’t say he wasn’t nervous. But Friday loomed the larger: it was to be the end-of-camp picnic. There was a minor war going on between the different Weasley houses concerning the parents’ pick-up game, with George claiming (through his daughter) that he’d be the best Chaser they’d ever seen and Ron telling everyone who would listen that the position of Seeker belonged to him. Hermione had already asked to borrow some Keeper gloves.

But Draco’s agitation was new, and baffling. It was also painful to watch.

They hadn’t spoken. But Harry felt as if he’d been the object of plea after plea: whereas Draco’s eyes had been everywhere but on him over the last week, now they never, _ever_ left him. Harry could feel it the moment he Apparated in with Lily and Al each morning, all the way until dusk was crawling in and the pitch was emptying. And Draco’s attention did not cease when Harry returned his gaze. If anything, it grew even more insistent. There was a hollowness behind Draco’s expression that felt malignant and active where before it had been dull and subdued. With the Seekers, Draco fidgeted on his broom, talking more with his body than he ever had in his life, Harry was certain. And all the while, Draco would _stare_ at him, so obviously that Harry was amazed no one had noticed.

But he never approached Harry. Never made any sort of contact, and the one time Harry thought to make it himself, Draco put distance between them so quickly that Harry had not tried again.

It hurt at night, when Harry lay alone in his bed trying not to be aware of the gaping space beside him.

On Wednesday, Draco and Scorpius did not come to camp. At least, not till the afternoon, when Draco showed up pale and worn out, son in tow, just in time to discuss the team line-up for Saturday. Harry noticed that Scorpius now had eyes only for his father, looking just as unsettled and twice as helpless. Scorpius started botching up his goal-keeping, spacing out so often that Ron took him to task for it twice.

Lily expressed concern. “Are Draco and Scorpius fighting or something? They don’t even leave together anymore.”

Scorpius wasn’t old enough to Apparate legally on his own, but Harry was willing to bet Draco had already taught him how. Or Astoria had. And Harry couldn’t fault Draco for letting his son pick his own departures. But he also didn’t know what to tell his daughter without including the whole sordid story and his very own starring role in it.

He just couldn’t be mad at Draco, not when he looked like his insides were slowly melting away. All Harry wanted to do was extend a hand, let Draco lean on him for a while until he could face it. If only Draco would let him into the same ten-foot radius.

**

Picnic day was sunny and clear. The hamburgers and kebabs that Harry and Draco provided were a huge hit, and there were more desserts than sides, so the sugar content of the day was spectacular. Harry downed four brownies himself, and one Butterbeer float. It was pretty automatic, though: he wasn’t exactly hungry.

The familial turnout was magnificent. Every child had at least one parent present for the whole day; some even had grandparents and cousins turn up. And they all wanted to talk to Draco about the success of his camp. Four weeks ago, Harry would have clapped Draco on the back and teased him for worrying about being the omnipresent black sheep. Now he observed listlessly, sipping from a cup that never seemed to empty, smiling when someone congratulated him on a job well done, and telling that someone he hoped their children returned next year.

“Next year? You’ll be continuing it then?”

It seemed so. The idea sat heavily in Harry’s stomach, both a glory and a pang.

The junior coaches rounded up the kids for the scavenger hunt around one, and Harry retreated to a grassy hillock just off the pitch, determined to stop thinking for a little while. It must have worked, because it seemed no time at all before the sun had moved and the kids were back, leaping about and making faces at each other as they waved prizes around: bags of Bertie Botts for all participants and gift waivers to Honeydukes for the overall winners. Harry sighed and got to his feet. His entire body felt stretched, like he’d gone too long on the Quidditch pitch himself.

It was time for the parents’ game.

Afterward, Harry couldn’t say what the plays were, save that one of them involved Ron distracting Hermione from every shot on goal by swooping in and kissing her hard enough to make her screech and toss the Quaffle at his head. Rose and Hugo were absolute puddles of embarrassment on the sidelines.

Blaise Zabini had gone in for Beater on Harry’s team and wielded the bat like a pro, though his seat on the broom needed work. At the edge of the pitch, Delilah jumped and cheered. Seamus Finnigan stood a little way behind her, his weight on one leg, all freckles and wind-curled hair and simple smile, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His and Blaise’s two-year-old daughter perched on his hip, sucking her thumb and watching the game as if she understood what was going on. Harry’s heart thumped painfully at the comfort of it, the fact that Seamus and the little girl would later take Blaise and Delilah and go home to their kitchen table, have dinner, tease each other about being too old and Blaise’s shaky flying.

Luna was playing Seeker against Ron, and doing much better than him, considering he couldn’t be bothered to look for the Snitch. Angelina was dashing about below them blowing her referee’s whistle far too often to be legit, but everyone was having fun with it. There ended up being enough players for a few subs, and when Harry finally went in as one of the Chasers, Draco was in formation next to him.

Harry was an adult, and professional. He could handle it. He shook himself, rounded up his team, and adopted a gruff voice reminiscent of Mad-Eye Moody. “All right, now listen up, you lot. Here’s the game plan. Luna? Ron’s more interested in snogging his wife than catching the Snitch, so if you could get hold of it and possibly shove it down his trousers to make it extra obvious that we’ve won, that would be brilliant. Blaise, feel free to knock George off his broom any time, not just when he’s got the Quaffle. In fact, if you want to commandeer his broom and use it to hit the Bludgers, I’m all for it. Hermione, your sole purpose in life is to humiliate my niece and nephew. Clear your mind of everything except this goal, and do whatever you can to distract Ron from coherent thought, including stripping. And Draco? Cheat. Cheat harder than you’ve ever cheated. Elbows, knees, wands in the eye, Dementors. Everyone else, you’d better be as disruptive as you possibly can. If you happen to be tone-deaf, you’d better be singing. I want dirty, filthy, shameful playing from all of you or you’re off the team.”

Blaise laughed outright, and Luna got a very disturbing smile on her face. Harry could have sworn he heard a snort from Draco, but when he looked over, Draco’s face was blank. Hermione slapped her hand into the centre, leading the team in a noisy, off-key cheer about Octogenarian Kneazles or whatever it was they’d been calling themselves. They set up for their next run.

Since they only had two Chasers to the other team’s three this time around, Harry counted most of the usual plays useless. He managed to get the ball away from the other team thanks to Blaise’s masterful mandrake mimicry, and tossed it immediately where he fully expected Draco to be. And Draco was there, catching the Quaffle in one arm and flipping nimbly sideways to avoid the Bludger aimed at his back. Harry shot downward, dragging the opposing Chaser with him, and about then, the simplicity and freedom of being on a broom again caught up with him and the stress melted away. The field narrowed to just him and Draco, zipping around obstacles on their way to the hoops at the far end. Harry faked left, caught Draco’s pass, and sent it back two seconds later, right under the chin of the other Chaser.

At one point, the Snitch paid him a visit and he very nearly took off after it before remembering. He turned to catch Draco’s eye, reconnect with his teammate. Draco raised his eyebrows, nodded once, and Harry just _knew_ what he was going to do. He bent over his broom and shot right, directly under Draco. Draco flew up at the same moment, dropping the Quaffle as neatly as if he’d lost his grip, and got sandwiched by two Chasers zeroing in. Harry caught the Quaffle and dropped further until his feet were skimming the grass. He palmed the ball, readied the pass—

—and bit hard into the dirt when he was rammed by what felt like a lorry. His broom wrenched out of his grip and he rolled end over end, still clutching the Quaffle. When he finally came to a stop, it was to whistle-blowing and brooms zipping by overhead.

Something thudded to the ground beside him. “Harry? Harry!”

Hands grabbed his face, cradled his cheeks. Harry blinked upward and saw Draco bent over him, hair unkempt, eyes wide.

“Hi,” Harry managed, feeling like he’d hit the ground chest-first.

“Are you hurt?” Draco’s hands moved down over his shoulders, grazing his chest. Harry pushed up onto one elbow with a groan. “Harry, stop moving, you—”

“M’fine. I think.” He tried to touch his head and realised he was still gripping the Quaffle under one arm.

“Stop _moving_ , for Salazar’s sake.” Draco turned to someone Harry couldn’t see yet. “Here, get one of the Healers.”

“No, it’s okay.” Harry winced, rubbing his ribs where he’d landed on them. “What happened?”

“Bludger and a Beater, mate.” It was Ron, crouching low beside Draco. “Though I think you ran into them, not the other way around.”

“That’s ridiculous, they came directly at him!” Draco snapped, turning the full weight of his glare on Ron. “I swear, if your captain told them to do that—”

“Relax.” Ron eyed Draco with a smile Harry recognised. “I was kidding. Trust me, it wasn’t on purpose. Felix just doesn’t know how to fly.”

Harry and Draco both looked to where Ron pointed, to find the father of one of their camp Beaters sheepishly rubbing his nape. “Sorry,” he said. “Bludger was sort of chasing me.”

Through the grip on his arm, Harry felt Draco’s entire body quiver as if he were about to explode. Then Ron laughed and the tension broke. Draco’s shoulders slumped. He turned back to Harry. “You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked, this time softer, and bent close. His hand touched Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s heartbeat picked up double-time and his mouth went dry. God, what it wouldn’t take to just lean up, catch hold of Draco and pull him down and— right in the middle of the field.

Draco’s eyes widened at the exact second that Harry remembered himself. His fingers clenched on Harry’s arm. Trembled and released, and then Draco straightened up, still staring down at Harry as if he’d been smacked.

Harry pushed up to a sitting position, heart hammering. The cold slide of reality enveloped again and he barely held back the sound that threatened, shamefully sure it would have been some sort of whimper.

“Harry, you’re all right?” Angelina.

“Yes,” he answered dully.

She nodded and waved her hands, blowing two short blasts on her whistle. “Play on!”

**

They were cleaning up when Harry’s brain finally came back to stay. “Oh, nearly forgot— Gather round, we’ve got the results for the team name in our scrimmage tomorrow.”

The kids all dropped what they were doing and congregated. Harry opened his mouth, but a raucous laugh from a group of parents (still finishing off the last of the Butterbeer) interrupted. Draco frowned.

“Oy! You lot!” He pointed at the main offender, who happened to be Theodore Nott. “Pipe down, we’re trying to work here.”

Nott stuck his tongue out at his old housemate. Draco’s smile was a bit anaemic, but there.

Harry cleared his throat and waved the Secrecy Parchment. “So. You all submitted very creative suggestions and let me tell you, the vote was close. Neck and neck.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that close,” James called out. “In fact, pretty much everyone voted for—”

Harry muted his eldest son with a wave of his hand, and Teddy broke down laughing as James flailed irately.

“As I was saying. Neck and neck. Blood was drawn. There was nearly rioting in the streets. But at last, we have a team name. Now let me just take a quick look, make sure my kid didn’t tamper with it.” He shook out the parchment. Read the name silently to himself. Draco leaned over his shoulder. Harry could feel the steady puff of his breathing, as he could likewise feel the moment when Draco’s smile broke free.

Harry couldn’t resist; he met Draco’s eyes and shared the smile with him.

“All right, looks fine to me. Draco, would you… do the honours?”

Draco’s fingers slid over Harry’s as he took the parchment, and Harry’s breath caught a little. Draco waved his wand over the parchment. It disintegrated into piercing blue motes that rose, coalesced, and spelled out for all to see:

 

 

A roar went up, as well as a couple of candy wrappers, three knee guards, and one set of goggles. This time when Harry and Draco grinned at each other, it felt real.

**

Getting home was anticlimactic. Harry was worn through, even though he’d basically been playing Quidditch straight for five weeks. But… it was finally over. He kept repeating it to himself, waiting for it to sink in. Surely next week he would be getting up early, Apparating to the pitch to set up before the kids arrived, having Draco over to discuss the curriculum—

All right, so the loss of that part was having no trouble hitting home.

He wondered if next year would be easier given a bit of a break from each other. Somehow, Harry didn’t think so. He knew himself: when he fell, he fell hard and for a long time. Even his crushes had longevity if nothing else, and this was more than that. Harry tended not to even see anyone else while he was in the grip of such an infatuation. And on top of that, he’d have to account for liking men to everyone who mattered.

He wished he could hear Draco’s take on it. Draco was the only other man he knew who had split up a long-term marriage only to begin dating men. Seamus and Blaise were plainly gay, but they’d never made any bones about being otherwise, and when they’d said their vows, it had been to each other first. Harry knew of some women who liked other women, but they had never been married— Pansy Parkinson came to mind. Harry knew his friends would understand, of course they’d _understand_. Sympathise. Let him lean on them while he figured things out. But none of them would be able to sit across from him, lean in and say, _You know, when that very situation happened to me…_

He set dinner to cooking on the hob, vegetables slicing on cutting boards, automatic. Glad he’d done this so many times. Even before he and Ginny finally stopped pretending, Harry was the one feeding the kids, the one home for them during the summer evenings, holidays and… well, any other day, really. A professional Quidditch career ate up so much more time than just during the playing season. Harry had long since got used to being on his own, and he had also long since decided he welcomed it. The chance to be with his kids had at first felt like a vindication, smug and satisfying and bitterly sharp on his tongue, but now it was just life. His kids, his home, food on the table and simple, cosy nights.

He was halfway through simmering the chicken curry when the doorbell rang. Harry listened for Al’s footsteps on the stairs, maybe Lily screaming from the other end of the house that she’d get it, but there was nothing. He wiped his hands on a towel and padded down the hallway to the front door.

Scorpius Malfoy looked up at him from the bottom of the steps. “Mr Potter.”

Harry stared, then peered past him into the evening darkness. He raised an eyebrow. “Mr Potter?”

Scorpius flushed red and dipped his gaze down in the vicinity of Harry’s feet. He threw one hand up as if to accompany words with a gesture, but didn’t speak.

Harry waved him inside. He didn’t know how it was happening exactly, but his immediate reactions were taking the form of self-confidence, of being in control of the situation. Inside, Harry felt like his lungs weren’t working properly, that he should be stuttering and stumbling into things and generally making a fool of himself trying to get to the bottom of this visit.

What was Scorpius doing here anyway? Alone?

“Where’s your dad?” he asked, and regretted it. Yes, focus on the one thing sure to get Scorpius’ hackles up. But Scorpius just lifted a shoulder, made his way to the sitting room, and didn’t look at him.

“Home. It’s all right that I’m here, he knows.”

Somehow, Harry doubted that Draco knew specifics. But he was the father of teenaged sons, too: he knew which battles to pick.

“Um.” He stood and scratched his head, wishing with all his might that Al would come bounding down the stairs right that second and take all this off his hands. “Do you want… need anything? A drink? Dinner?”

Scorpius shook his head. “No, I’m… I can’t eat right now. Listen, can you— I was an arse!”

It came out abruptly, near a shout. Harry stared at Scorpius and Scorpius stared right back as if he couldn’t believe what had just come from his mouth. Bright red rushed up his cheeks. Scorpius turned to the couch and flung himself onto it. Heaved a great sigh.

“Do you like him? My dad.”

“I… Wait, what specifically—”

“Because he likes you. _Really_ likes you.” Scorpius scoffed. It was bitterer than the bitterest fruit. “And he’s acting like a right idiot over it now, and I just—”

Harry was completely flummoxed. It didn’t happen often to this degree; the times it did usually involved James and whatever girl he was seeing at the time. “What?”

Scorpius stood with a jerk and remained there, hands trembling visibly. Harry reined in his next words before they escaped his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to— didn’t know he’d be so unhappy.” Scorpius glowered. “And _you_. You’re all… And I just feel like it’s my fault, but it wasn’t really fair, was it? You two.” He flung a hand out, fingers splayed. “Why’d you have to— Couldn’t you have given it more time?”

“I don’t… know what you mean, Scorpius.”

“And that’s another thing. You’re so nice to me, I feel like an absolute wanker! This is _my family_ , you know?” He stalked up and jabbed a finger at Harry. “You shouldn’t be able to just come in and… and…”

Harry kept his eyes on Scorpius’. “I know that. I have a family, too.”

Scorpius looked hard at Harry. His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. After a few seconds, he went back to the couch and sat down, deliberate and subdued.

“Look. He’s been this way ever since you. Can’t you just take him back?”

“Can’t I…” Harry shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I assume you had a fight,” Scorpius returned, sounding deeply irritated. “Whatever. So maybe you can forgive him and fix it.”

Harry was starting to wish he’d sat down, too. He took a deep breath. “We didn’t fight. Your father called it off.”

He couldn’t _believe_ he was having this conversation with a sixteen-year-old.

Scorpius’ brow twisted. He eyed Harry. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. He’s bloody miserable.”

Harry’s heart picked up speed. “I don’t know what else to say. It’s what happened.”

Scorpius scowled down at his hands. “Why would he call it off?”

Certainly this wasn’t his answer to give. Harry felt like he was trampling all over Draco’s coattails. “I think that’s something…” He sighed, not feeling any better about shoving Scorpius off onto his dad. “Something you’ll need to ask your father, Scorpius.”

“I tried! He won’t talk about it! And then Mum says I’m being unreasonable!”

“You spoke to your mum about this?”

“Well, _yes_.” Scorpius frowned at him. “I thought for sure she’d understand, but she just said to give Dad and, and you… a chance, and not to take it personally.”

Now there was something Harry could latch onto. “We certainly didn’t mean it personally, Scorpius,” he said softly.

Scorpius’ fingers clenched on his knees. “I know that. It’s a bit fast, though, I mean, you’re not even divorced, Al told me.”

Harry berated himself again for being so damned unobservant of his own child. “You’re right, we’re not divorced. Not officially. But there is also no chance we’ll be reconciling, Scorpius. And Al knows that. These things can be time-consuming.”

Scorpius’ face twisted even further. “Not for my parents.”

Harry didn’t know what to say except… “I’m sorry, Scorpius.”

“How can she be so… so… _easy_ with it all? Didn’t it mean anything to her? To him? To be my parents, to be married!”

 _“Hey.”_ Harry reached out and put his hand firmly on Scorpius’ arm, waiting until he had the boy’s full attention. “I know for a fact that being your parent means _everything_ to your dad. There isn’t anything in the world more important to him. And from what I know of your mother, I’m willing to bet that she feels the same way.”

Scorpius didn’t look like he knew whether to believe him. He eyed Harry’s hand where it held his arm. Harry hesitated, then removed it.

“Scorpius. I really think you need to discuss this with your father. With your _parents_. I don’t know if they’re aware of exactly how you feel, but I’m sure they’d—”

“They know. They have to know.”

Harry chose his words carefully. “Sometimes we’re a little stupid. About really obvious things.”

Scorpius sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked so like his father for a moment that Harry just sat and watched. “Look,” Scorpius said finally. His expression was resigned. “Could you just, I don’t know. Just forgive him? For whatever he did.”

“I _really_ don’t know what you mean.”

“My dad! Salazar, he’s acting like— He doesn’t smile and he doesn’t eat. It’s worse than when they split up, I mean, then things were a little tense, but now he’s just a mess. He’s, how did you put it? He’s _a little stupid_ , okay? I’m sure he didn’t mean it, whatever he did.”

“Are you, do you think I’m angry with him?”

“Aren’t you? Godric, the way you look at each other, and you don’t talk to him anymore and he just keeps his distance, like he’s afraid you’re going to bite his head off. And like he’d deserve it! I swear, if camp wasn’t basically over, I’d be afraid it was about to collapse, the way things are going.”

“I’m not angry with him.” Harry felt absolutely blindsided, but he knew that was true.

“Well, what’s he so upset about, then?” Scorpius’ voice rose and Harry half expected his kids to come downstairs to investigate. “He’s a bloody mess over it!”

“I don’t—”

The Floo whooshed to life, startling Harry with its flare. He looked from Scorpius to the flames, and a very familiar voice came through.

“Potter? Harry? I need to speak with you, it’s urgent!”

Harry threw another glance at Scorpius, then got to his knees and crawled over to the hearth. “I… yes, I’m here, Draco, what is it?”

Draco’s face appeared in the flames. “Oh, thank the Founders, Harry, I— Listen, is Scorpius there? With you?”

The words were frenzied, his eyes wide and hunted. Harry heard Scorpius get up from the couch. He looked back over his shoulder and found the boy equally wide-eyed, staring right at him and twisting his hands together. “Draco, what—”

“He’s gone, he just _left_ , and the clock— I’ve charmed one of the spaces, you see, because he’s just over with Al so much, I thought—” Draco blushed very obviously. He pulled a hand through his hair. “It says he’s there, but he and Al, they aren’t exactly—”

Harry waved a hand. “Yes, he’s here. He’s all right.”

The front door slammed and Harry jumped. Spun. The room was empty. “Scorpius?”

“Thank Godric, Harry, I— Oh, it… It says he just…” Draco craned out of view, then came back. “Says he’s on his way home now.”

“Right. Good.” And then it was just awkward. Harry stared at Draco and Draco stared back, and the little clock, Harry’s clock, ticked on the mantelpiece.

“Are you all right?” Harry finally asked, unable to bear the silence. Draco swallowed and looked away.

“I’m fine. Just worried. I was worried. I’m so glad he— came to you.”

“Me too.”

Draco leaned back again. “There’s the front door. I’ll just… Thank you, Harry. So much.” His mouth worked as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he just nodded, said goodnight, and pulled his head from the Floo.

Harry sat back on the hearth and sighed.

**

It was windy. Harry shaded his eyes with one hand, tugged the collar of his coat tighter with the other, and wondered if he should charm the pitch to keep players from being blown across the boundary lines. Some of them were so small it might actually be an issue.

Cormac McLaggen’s caustic laugh made him wince. Harry turned with a sigh and headed back to where McLaggen had cornered Teddy and was… blatantly attempting to poach him over to his camp next summer. Harry’s mood, already stretched thin, tightened to the point of a physical headache.

“All right,” he said, not caring that he was interrupting. Draco would be so proud. Harry clapped his gloved hands together. “Let’s get the warm ups going, yeah?”

Teddy looked so relieved Harry had to smile. The expression felt nice on his face again. “I’ll go get the kids set up,” Teddy said, jogging backward and pointing over his shoulder before taking off at a full sprint. Harry watched him go.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

And serenity was short-lived. Harry set his jaw, determined not to get himself kicked off the pitch for punching the other coach. “He’ll be along. So. Line-ups?”

McLaggen looked a little miffed, but he traded information on his players readily. Harry outlined a definitive time for the game to end (he didn’t care if it _was_ Quidditch, he was not facing an entire weekend in the mud with Cormac McLaggen over a snotty little Snitch that refused to be caught) and McLaggen opened his big fat mouth again.

“I could lend you a few of my more experienced players. If you like.”

Harry smiled thinly, but it was Draco’s voice that answered.

“I think we’ll be just fine, thank you.” Draco came in from the right, wrapped in the softest looking jacket known to man and a thick scarf. He placed himself right next to Harry, close enough to brush elbows, even sides. Harry was grateful for the solidarity for more than one reason, but some of that reasoning just made him feel sad again.

“All alone, McLaggen?” Draco asked innocently. “That’s brave of you. All those kids.”

McLaggen grinned a little too widely for Harry’s comfort. He waved at someone behind them. “Actually, I meant to introduce you. Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, this is Sullivan Holt. Sully.”

Sully, a willowy brunet with a wide smile, came around and shook hands. And then his eyes fixed immediately on Draco and stayed there. Harry couldn’t have stopped his gut from rolling if he tried.

Draco, for his part, kept a cool, disinterested demeanour, but then, he’d been trying to do that with everything these last two weeks. They finished the preliminaries and returned to their respective teams. Draco and Harry walked alongside each other, their breaths misting in the cold air.

“Scorpius all right?” Harry asked presently.

Draco looked at him. “Yes. Thank you. For whatever… whatever you did. Said.”

Harry shrugged, glad of the unseasonal chill to explain away his blush. “Didn’t really do or say anything.”

Draco’s eyes were still on him. “I think you did.”

Harry felt that if he turned his head, he’d see that Draco was scrutinising him. He swallowed and didn’t turn his head, and felt like a coward.

And then Draco stopped walking. “Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat. “We should get the team together.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t answer. He nodded once. “Yes.”

They got two more steps before Draco grabbed his arm. The touch hit Harry harder than expected. He couldn’t stop the shiver, even with gloves and coat sleeves between them: it ratcheted up and down his spine so fast he swayed, and Draco’s grip tightened.

“Are you all right?” Draco’s brow creased.

In one second, Harry had suddenly gathered himself for what he needed to say. “Draco, I don’t know what this is anymore, but I know I can’t do this if we’re just…”

He trailed off, stared mutely, hoping and not hoping, and Draco looked right back. Nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I get that.”

“And I don’t think I can handle having you but not… having you.”

Draco let out a quick breath, and when he turned to Harry again, his eyes were full of so much more than anticipated. Harry saw fear. Guilt. And a painfully morose light that just refused to fade. “Harry, I know what I said to you, what I… decided. And if you are done with it, with me, then I can’t really— There’s nothing I can complain about. I’ve done this to myself. But I find I can’t…” His shoulders hitched helplessly. “I don’t _want_ that anymore. I want pretty much the opposite, and I’ve, I’ve just been a wreck these last couple weeks, even Scorpius has pointed it out to me—”

“He pointed it out to me, too.”

Draco’s fingers dug into his arm. He searched Harry’s face. “If I were to go back on— No. No, I’m _going_ back on what I said to you before. And I’m hoping I haven’t fucked it all up irretrievably, that you might give me a second chance to get my act together.”

Harry’s heart hit so soundly against his ribs that his breath jagged. He swallowed and took Draco’s hand in his, trying not to clench too tightly. “Draco, the last thing I want to do is come between you and your son. Your family.”

“And I swear to you that you _are not_.” Draco turned his hand until their palms met and fixed his grip again. Even through two layers of gloves… Harry felt his cheeks heat. “Harry, Scorpius and I… Last night we discussed things.” His blush mimicked Harry’s and brought out the grey of his eyes, the fervent glow there.

“You did?”

“Harry, you didn’t do anything wrong. He told me he thought you were angry with me, that he’d said as much to you. And I couldn’t let him believe that, so I explained it, what happened.”

“Draco, I never blamed—”

“Well, maybe you should have.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. It was becoming a common occurrence with these Malfoys. Draco went on.

“I’m not happy like this. Without you. I know we didn’t have all that much time to be together, and I feel like… If you’ve thought about it and you no longer feel the same way—”

“Hey, Dad?”

Harry jumped. Draco jumped, too, and retracted his hand. They both turned to find James with his eyebrows raised, standing a little ways off with the kids. Who were all ready to go. And shivering.

The look on Draco’s face was equally irritated and forlorn.

“Right.” Harry waved to James, glad he could get his limbs to function at his command again. “Be right there.”

“Harry—” Draco sounded desperate.

Harry grabbed his hand up again and squeezed, and Draco’s words died. “I know. I _do_. Draco, I do. Feel the same, that is. I—” God, he wanted to _explain_. Tell Draco just how much of the sting had vanished, how much blood had been pumped back into his body with Draco’s words. The wound was not just sewn together, it was gone, the flesh rigid and strong, and Harry could breathe normally again for the first time in days.

Wanted to tell him how many nights he’d stared at the ceiling and just wished. How he’d missed Draco in his bed, a bed in which Draco had never actually lain.

“We have to go,” he said, too fast, dismay bleeding through. “We have to—”

“I know.” Draco’s voice was dull.

“No. Listen to me. Draco, yes. If you’ll have me, I want you.”

He would have said the words a hundred times over again if it meant he could see that look on Draco’s face.

“We have to go,” he managed.

Draco nodded. Nodded again and gently worked his hand free of Harry’s grip. Harry stepped back. But now Draco was looking at him openly, nothing held in check behind his eyes, and Harry… Harry was going to have a hell of a day.

“All right,” he tried. “All right!” He turned to the kids and headed brusquely for them, Draco a little ways behind. “Let’s win this game!”

**

They put Sienna Chang in first as Keeper and gave Rose and Evie a bat each. From there on, it was chaos.

All right, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but Harry wasn’t too bothered with the moniker for several reasons: one was that Evie accompanied each smack of the Bludger with an earsplitting yowl that put Harry in mind of an infuriated Basilisk. Sienna started out a little sluggish, and when the first shot went past her through the hoops, Harry could have sworn her lower lip trembled. But she rallied and kept the next five shots at bay.

“It’s not really a _good_ thing that they’re getting so many shots on the goal hoops,” Draco told the Chasers gently during the first time out. James took over the pep talk, sprinkling in some words of encouragement that had Harry grabbing his son in a headlock and kissing him on the temple after. James struggled free.

“ _Dad_ , Merlin.”

Lily was literally dancing on the sidelines. “Go, go! Miriam, there, it’s right there!”

“Can she really see the Snitch?” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear as he ushered a bruised Lorcan off the field and put Anthony in.

“I haven’t seen even the tiniest twinkle,” Harry answered.

“Hmm.”

And then Delilah, playing out of position as Chaser, made a goal. A girl on the other team whooped from the sidelines, earning her a glare from McLaggen and a pat on the back from Seamus Finnigan. A Hogwarts roommate, Harry was sure.

As the game went on, patterns began to develop. Cormac seemed to delight in removing his players when they allowed the Plimpies an advantage, but Harry was (begrudgingly) happy to see that the other coach was clearly in it for love of the game. Sullivan Holt was nearly beside himself with excitement, urging his kids onto the field, congratulating them when they came off, and generally being very supportive and likeable. Not that Harry was going to invite him out to the pub after or anything.

“Anthony, move up and take centre Chaser. Evie, I want you to try Chaser, too. Give your bat to Lysander— No, _Chaser_ , Evie, not Seeker. Lysander, wait a minute, you’re not going after the Snitch, you’re— No, Anthony, I said centre!”

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered. He was smiling.

Miriam flew off field fifteen minutes in, complaining of a strained elbow, and Lily took her place. Then, halfway through the game, Hugo went in as Keeper and managed to get a Bludger across the nose. The referee called a foul and gave the Plimpies the Quaffle, which Delilah used to score again before the ref could even resume play, and the ball was turned over once more. Meanwhile, Hugo was bleeding all over the goal posts.

“Hugo!” Harry beckoned. “Come on, come get cleaned up.”

“I’b fide!”

Draco jogged over until he was beneath the posts. “We need you to come in, Hugo.”

“Doh, really. It’s fide.”

“Hugo Mortimer Weasley, you get your bum off that field this instant!” Hermione shrilled from behind Harry, and Draco was overcome with a sudden coughing fit.

Hugo’s eyes went very wide. “Yes, Mub.” He flew his broom in and staggered off of it, wiping at his nose. Hermione fell on him instantly, brandishing her wand.

Draco shook his head incredulously at Harry.

“All right, Scorpius,” Harry said, hesitating for just a second before clapping the boy on the back. “Nothing gets past. Get the ball to Al, get it back down on their end of the field.”

Scorpius nodded. His eyes flicked to Harry’s once, and then he pushed off. Al followed, veering into the right-side Chaser position.

Draco shaded his eyes. His breathing sounded laboured. Harry could relate: all the running around positioning children and yelling out advice had taken it out of him. He liked the feeling. “Who would have thought making substitutions would be even crazier than the actual game?” he said.

“Harry?”

He looked down and found little Amy Wilding tugging on his robe. He squatted down and settled a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, love. I promise. Plenty of game left to play.”

“But Scorpius is the best.”

“Well, I happen to know that Scorpius would want you ready to go in when he’s tired.” Draco, standing behind Harry. Amy got a _look_ on her face, and her little hand cinched tight around her broom. Harry had never seen such terrified determination before.

As it happened, Amy got her chance not due to subbing on Harry and Draco’s part, but rather to one of McLaggen’s Chasers flying headlong into Scorpius and knocking him against the hoops. Draco’s face went ashen as Scorpius tumbled, but he’d barely taken a step when his son righted himself. Scorpius wobbled a little on his broom, stayed up for a moment, then shook his head and brought himself down to the pitch.

Al landed beside him, as did the offending Chaser, and Harry and Draco ran over.

“Bees,” the boy on the other team was saying. He bit his lip. “Nearly got stung, and I didn’t see— I’m sorry—”

“S’all right,” Scorpius said. “I’m okay. Just bruised.”

“You need to come out?”

Scorpius looked at his father, then at Harry, then at Amy standing behind them. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d better sit for a bit.”

Amy’s face went completely white. “I’m.”

Harry crouched down again. “You’re in.”

“I’m in.” Her eyes looked a bit blank. Scorpius studied her, then handed his broom to his dad.

“All right, this is it, Wilding,” he said, suddenly brusque and centred. He straightened Amy’s wool hat on her head by tugging its pom-pom. “Your turn at the hoops. I’ll be standing right below you watching, got it? So you’d better keep your mind on the game. Team’s counting on you.”

Amy stared at him for a long second, then threw a leg over her broom. “Right. Yes. Okay.”

Scorpius trailed her all the way to the hoops and remained there for the rest of the game, calling out pointers, cheering her on when she blocked and picking her spirits up when the Quaffle got through. Meanwhile, Al went to town on the other team’s Keeper, scoring six times before Harry finally bit the bullet and rotated someone else in.

And then Lily saw the Snitch. So did the other Seeker, and for the next two minutes, Harry’s heart was stuck right in his gullet as he watched his daughter careen out of control chasing after the damn thing.

“Told you she’s quick,” Draco murmured smugly at his side.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Harry breathed, both hands tangled in his hair.

Fortunately for Harry’s blood vessels, the pursuit did not last long. Lily and the other Seeker slammed into each other when they both lined up in its wake and stayed that way until the other Seeker just barely inched out Lily’s fingers and plucked the fluttering golden ball out of the air. Amidst the shrieking and chanting and general rowdiness of the watching parents, Harry bent forward and braced both hands on his knees, trying to breathe normally again.

“Hey.” Draco’s hand came down gently on Harry’s back. “Hey, it’s over. She’s fine.”

Harry snapped up straight so fast Draco jumped back. He pointed a finger in Draco’s face. “You ever teach her anything like a Wronski Feint again, I’ll—”

Draco grabbed his finger and tugged, and Harry stumbled forward into him. Suddenly they were surrounded by cheering children from both teams, shaking hands and hugging. Holt was shouting at them gleefully, asking whether they could get together to plan for next year, and McLaggen… well, Harry didn’t really care where he was at the moment because Draco had their fingers linked, palms pressed together between their bodies, and was smiling up at him with such simple joy that Harry’s mixed up thoughts all washed away.

“What… What’s the score?” Harry managed, an aside to Roxanne, who was bouncing around with a Lovegood-Scamander twin on each arm.

“Who cares?” she shouted gaily. A second later, Teddy had them all whooping in time, some weird Muggle rugby cheer, and Harry and Draco were forgotten.

“I’m…” Harry took a deep breath and noted Draco doing the same. “So, that’s done.”

“Indeed.” Draco’s fingers squeezed Harry’s, making his stomach twist in a rather nice way.

“And I’m.” Whatever he was trying to say, it was obviously beyond him. Harry licked his lips, and then Draco leaned forward and Harry stilled.

Draco’s eyes darted over his face. “All right?”

Yes, it was, only… Harry glanced around, sure that at least _one_ person was watching them in particular. “Scorpius?”

Draco didn’t move, and Harry was afraid he’d ruined it. Then Draco’s eyelids lowered, just a bit. He lifted one hand and cast a mild Disillusionment. “Won’t rub his face in it just yet.”

There was a tremor to Draco’s words, and Harry’s heart thumped sideways with how obviously this was costing him. He pulled Draco closer, needing to feel his body heat.

Draco tilted his head and kissed him. Wrapped his arms around Harry and kept kissing while the kids cheered deafeningly.

**

Harry shut his front door behind them, thanking the Founders for Hermione and her well-timed omnipotence. Al and Lily would readily spend ages at their cousins’. And Draco was in _his house_ ; he moved through the front hall into the sitting room, looking around as if he’d never been before, and it was so endearing Harry had to stop and pull himself together.

“You’re sure it’s all right?” he asked.

Draco turned. His coat and scarf were still on, framing his face with rich colour. He nodded. “They’ve been planning this for a couple days now. Astoria’s taken him up to Edinburgh. Wand festival.”

Harry wondered just what a wand festival had to do to pull a teenage boy up north on one of the last weekends of his summer holiday. He had a feeling the festival had little to do with anything, but if Draco wasn’t going to say it aloud, neither would he.

“I’ve got tea,” Harry said, banishing his coat and brushing his hands off on his jeans. “If you want it. Are you hungry? I can make us—”

He stopped when he found Draco watching him, gone utterly still in the doorway of his sitting room. A tremor ran through Harry’s limbs. “What?”

Draco blinked and looked away. His hands settled in the pockets of his coat as he perused the room again, eyes lingering over the hearth with all its framed photos. Harry ventured closer, wishing he’d thought to remove his shoes, wishing Draco had taken off his coat already and wasn’t standing there looking an inch away from leaving again.

“I’m not really hungry,” Draco answered at last.

“Me neither.” Harry came over to stand before Draco, hands itching to take his coat off for him, remove the threat of departure himself. “You want to… sit down?”

Draco nodded too quickly, then hunched his shoulders. In a flurry a motion, he’d shed his scarf and coat and laid them over the back of Harry’s couch. Harry’s belly unknotted.

“I don’t want to do casual.” Draco exhaled, long and steady. “There. I think that should be out in the open.”

Harry bent his head, got Draco to meet his eyes. “I don’t imagine I do well with… How does James put it? One-offs.”

Draco snorted. In a flash, he was back to the unapologetic, disapproving independent Harry knew him to be. “Your son has bad habits, Harry.”

“Don’t I know it.” Harry moistened his lips. Jokes and all, he really was in earnest. Wanted Draco to know how he felt. “Draco, I’m up for whatever you have in mind.”

Draco frowned. “Harry, I’m sorry, but. You’re a little new to. This. I think?”

Harry nodded, and Draco’s expression took on a sorrowful edge. He gestured, looking anywhere but at Harry. “I just. Are you sure? Are you sure about this, about being with— me. Because—”

Harry grabbed his arm, tugged him into stillness, and kissed his mouth. It was the first time he’d initiated a kiss between them without the help of rampaging hormones, and it felt good. Tender, like he’d wanted it to, like he just might be putting Draco’s fears to rest. Draco sagged into it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Pulling him close and tilting his head, and. And.

“Pretty sure I’m sure,” Harry breathed when their lips parted. Draco let out a little puff of air against his mouth, and Harry touched their lips together again. Again. God, he could do this forever.

“There is the slight matter of my daughter having a crush on you, though.”

Draco pulled back. “What?”

Harry tried to look as serious as possible, but couldn’t hold it. He sputtered, and before he knew it, he was chuckling. Draco looked nonplussed.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.”

Draco stilled, then stepped slightly away and rubbed his face with his hands. “And does she actually think—”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Please do. Because I can’t possibly return her feelings.” And Draco smiled, just a little. He reached out and took Harry’s hand with hesitant fingers.

“I missed you,” Harry said without considering, and something happened behind Draco’s eyes, sharp and wholly unnerving. Draco gripped Harry’s wrist and got right up close, his body vibrating minutely.

“I _really_ missed you,” Draco breathed, “Godric, Harry, I want you so much, I just, I can’t _think_ —”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Harry got out just before their mouths met, and it was like falling back into an old, good habit, comfortable and soothing, yet tripping with electricity that had Harry’s skin tingling. He backed Draco up slowly, more attempting to get closer than to move him, until Draco bumped the wall. He slumped against it, pulling Harry off balance, but it hardly mattered: Harry skated his hands up and down over Draco’s jumper and kissed him back, and folded into his body like he’d never left.

Draco pulled back with a hiss, turning his face upward. His eyelids drifted shut and lifted again, dazed. “Upstairs?” he asked, barely a word at all.

Harry pulled him off the wall. Their legs tangled a little as they tried to manage the way to the stairs, and Harry barely made it three steps before he had Draco against him again, this time knocking a picture askew in the hallway proper as he cupped Draco’s face and turned his head and almost forgot what their goal was.

This. He just wanted this. He didn’t care where it happened or whether or not anyone approved. It was all right if they didn’t. He was going ahead full-throttle regardless. It was enough to know that Draco was with him in this, both literally and figuratively. He nearly toppled over trying to take the first stair, but Draco tugged him up and pushed them both along the banister until they reached the landing. And then _he_ stumbled, and Harry was the one to catch him by the front of his jumper, straighten him out and press him into the wall. Draco untangled their arms, yanked his jumper over his head, then pulled Harry’s shirt up as well, and Harry had to stop him, unfasten the buttons one by one instead. But he got it off and threw it aside, and _there_ was his bedroom door. Finally.

Draco entered the room wrapped in his arms and fell across the bed without ceremony when the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Harry, however, stopped, a little appalled at the result of their embrace. Draco pushed up onto his elbow and grabbed Harry’s jeans by the waistband. Pulled him in gently.

“All right?” he whispered. Harry nodded into another kiss. Of course it was. There was nothing Draco could do or say that would make Harry change his mind. He just couldn’t believe himself. He’d never been so pushy, so… vague in his recollection about how he’d got from Point A to Point B.

Draco urged him closer until the only thing to do was get up on the bed with him. Harry did, a knee on either side of Draco’s thighs, curling his fingers in Draco’s hair and in his belt. At least his hands remembered what they were doing: Harry unbuckled the belt without having to think too much and went for Draco’s fly. When his knuckles touched skin underneath, Draco shuddered and bucked, right against Harry.

“Salazar, you—”Draco was struggling to speak. Harry stilled, and Draco swallowed audibly. “Have to slow down. A little, I’m afraid I— Been wanting it for too long.”

And that was just sexy. Harry had to breathe, calm _himself_ down a little at the knowledge that he was forcing Draco’s self-control out of his grip. Didn’t help that he’d been yearning for this, too; it was as if his body had finally caught up and was determined to take things to the end as quickly as it could manage, lest they throw barriers up again. Harry set to work on his own trousers to give himself time, but before too long, they were off, Draco pushing them down over his hips, the flat expanse of Draco’s stomach heaving in his haste. Harry got his hands on Draco’s bare waist, edging his trousers down, and then had to stop and collect his scattered thoughts. He shut his eyes and opened them again, and when he looked down, Draco was lying back on his bed, one leg interlocked with Harry’s, t-shirt thin and riding up. The shadows pooled a little at his collarbone and the dip of his navel, and the faint sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. Harry watched a droplet trail down Draco’s throat to the hollow and decided he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“Wanted you right here,” he whispered, and Draco froze.

“What?”

Harry reached down and clenched a handful of bedding beside Draco’s temple. Draco turned his head a little, eyes still on Harry’s face, and kissed the inside of his wrist. Harry’s heart thumped. “Here,” he clarified at last. “On my bed, in my _room_. I just—”

He didn’t know what to say after that. Draco’s eyes darted back and forth over his face. One of Draco’s hands settled firmly over Harry’s heart, palm hotter than Harry’s own skin. Harry lowered his head and kissed him, lengthy and sound, sweet right at the end.

“You look good,” he murmured. _On this bed, in this room. In my life._

Draco smiled, a slow, steady curve that echoed in his eyes and said, _All of that, and more._

Harry kissed him, bent down and took his time, and when he was done, Draco’s chest was heaving, his breathing uneven. He looked up at Harry with a strange sort of glow in his eyes, like he’d never actually managed to see Harry before. His throat rippled, damp in the overhead light. “You can fuck me,” he whispered, then laughed a little. “And _that_ sounds so romantic.”

But Harry’s gut was stuck back on the first statement and the vertigo was startlingly profound. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder with one hand, looked him up and down, and struggled to find his voice. “I’m. I’ve never…”

Draco nodded. “I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are _you?_ ”

If Draco was asking again about Harry’s preference for male anatomy— But Harry didn’t think that was the case. He touched his lips to the tip of Draco’s nose and wondered suddenly why this had to feel so different. Woman, man, in the end, the base emotion was the same: pure want. In Draco’s case, almost overwhelming devotion. Harry didn’t think he’d ever grown so attached to someone so quickly. But then, it hadn’t really been quick at all, had it?

“Harry? We can do it later.” Draco smiled up at him slowly, not quite a smirk. Too open for that. His fingers drifted in a line down Harry’s chest, setting off a path of delicate frisson over his skin. “We’ve got time. Right now, I’ve got some ideas. If you’re interested.”

Harry thought he could get interested in another one of Draco’s ideas. He kissed him again, unable to get his fill of Draco’s mouth, his whole body itching with it, but kissing him, just kissing him… That was something else entirely.

Draco pushed against him gently, never surrendering Harry’s mouth, and turned them over on the bed. He splayed his hands over Harry’s chest and broke the kiss long enough to speak. His mouth remained only centimetres from Harry’s, as if he couldn’t bear to pull further away. “Think I can make you come just from this?”

He rolled his hips firmly, still half-clothed, pushing Harry ever so slightly up on the mattress, and the extra friction shoved at Harry’s lungs until he couldn’t help but moan. Draco’s hand moved up, settled warmly at the side of his throat. His thumb traced a tender line from chin to hollow.

“Oh, I’m completely sure of that,” Harry breathed, and Draco grinned into the kiss. And didn’t let him down.

~fin~


End file.
